BET - 2012 BET Hip Hop Awards - Cypher 1 Lyrics

Released: October 9, 2012

Featuring: Grand Hustle Records T.I. Iggy Azalea Chip Trae tha Truth B.o.B

Songwriter: T.I. B.o.B Iggy Azalea Chip Trae tha Truth

[Verse 1: Trae Tha Truth]
Tip, give me the beat, let me crash 'em like I was reckless
This cypher used to be rap, now it's thuggin' fresh out of Texas
Focused soon as I'm speaking, no sleeping like they was restless
I demand to be respected guess haters ain't get that message
Now they got theyself a problem, call him king of the state
The only option is take they plate, dinner finished
Tell 'em they late, like Weezy the way I skate on glass
Paint wood as a Laker, I ain't the ref, tell 'em I'm ranked legendary
2pac, and they see me
I'm built like that, for real like that
Been ten plus, I'm still that like, with steel like that
Dope fiend wrist, covered in packs, multiple rocks
Step inside my garage I can disappear multiple tops
Tell 'em it's ABN, you can find us on multiple blocks
Rollie, PK, and Hublot, rolling through multiple clocks
I'm classic, this year I'm on fire, somebody fan me
Next season gon' be repeated like the Heat in Miami
Genius

[Verse 2: Chip]
Ay yo Tip, talkin' to ya tough
Delivery and flow, but ain't sayin' too much
It's London, boy, wassup
Suicidal flow, I let it bang myself
You'd be the best in the building if I hang myself
Come on, these days everybody's Al Capone, they got a
Neck full of jewels but doesn't own they homes
So you can tell these sucka niggas, take they Roley's home
Now everybody stunts until they break a bone
Come on, go against the team Tip'll give you the drop
That's red dots to your frame, no berry Ciroc
See the rhymes are tight, and this ain't my prime yet
So keep your whack bars I'll dissect your dialect
Dunno what you're coming for I'm coming for the papes
Al-Qaeda, I'mma blow up in the States
I don't play fair I play foul, so who's up next?
No mercy, I'm killing everything, including the ref

[Verse 3: Iggy Azalea]
Look, the game's heir apparent
Paparazzi's following stalkin' for shit I'm wearing, huh
Young Iggy I'm stuntin' while bitches frontin'
If I'm not your competition, what you mad for... nothing?
Normally I'm no subliminal criminal
But you get famous if I say your name in the interviews
So I mean it when I say I hope they never remember you
So you finally realize that we're not that into you
Look, I'm back to the murda bizness
I'm killing the competition
So stuntin' is just a given position
To get a win and go dancing is a sin
Flow on the next level, lifestyle Rolex bezel and
The accent just sound like racks spent
I'm that sick, Rosé and Saks 5th
I-A, ie. I'm that bitch
Tip heard it one time and said "that's that shit"

[Verse 4: B.o.B]
Oh, ahead of my time?
I'm a step ahead of myself
My crypt say ''Dig a hole and bury yourself''
Mike Tyson Louis, I got various belts
She say she wanna****my swag and marry my wealth
You see, my crew worth half your life, watch worth half a mil
That's why you niggas getting run through like a Madden drill
Ya'll ain't on my level, no, ya'll ain't even half as ill
I kill you little bitches like the****morning-after pill
Don't try my squad, we'll expose your identity
We all know you softer than a bowl of after-dinner mints
Coat from Tokyo, my jacket is an immigrant
That's who your girl thirstier than third-world villages
Mentally, I am absurd, I understand, my life is a blur
You might be concerned I'm as high as a bird remembering things that didn't occur
Don't make no sense to flex like this
They call me master cuz' they scared when I pull out my whip

[Verse 5: T.I.]
Make them acknowledge I'm the hottest at making hip being modest
Demolish hater's egos by being honest, you garbage
Bugatis and Ferraris, throw Maseratis to strippers
Maybach's in my garages and Rovers I'm so official
I guess I'll put an end to the rumors and speculation
Ay, Tip ain't nothing to play with, king, no conversation
Whoever drop a song and get poppin', congratulations
But I'm livin' what I'm sayin', stay in heavy demand
A one-man wrecking crew, one-man-band
Fully automatic Mac, let 'em have it, one hand
One stack of hundreds, fifty rack, one rubber band
Hundred million dollar check, on the jet parleyin'
On the way to Tahiti 'cuz my girl wanna tan
Yeen' gotta rock wit' it but your girl understand
Trouble man, everywhere I land, hustle game homeboy
Our whole team hustle grand

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