Lyrics:
a magic trick
Nine months later, got a baby by the baddest bitch
If your name ain't on your chain, you ain't shit yet
Nigga you don't smoke exotic, how
the chop sing
Niggas said, what? Bitch, we really pop thangs
I'll hop out with this bitch, nigga, and drop names
Aye, we a hopper
Man, aye, I done tripped
hand man
My right hand, my right hand man
My right hand, my right hand man
If he can't fix it, I don't know who can
The sinsemilla? salesman
room
He'd buy her a lot of things, said it's because he cared
But there was just more to it, she could tell by his glare
She could tell by his stare he
he wrote it
Let me welcome you in the spot like a hostess
Focus I’m talking I found the hidden lotus
Goals of giving my jobs two weeks notice
Write
No he never wrote me nothing, but I can't forget his face
(Repeat Chorus)
Ohhh. There's a lying in your silence. Tell me where did Johnny go?
Ohhh.
home, but he ain't finished yet
Doin' the wrong things with my power that God gave me
God gave me power, I used it for Satan
Instead of spreadin' love,
The world by the balls, eatin' out my palm
Every album song I was spazzin'
The fuck out on
And now I'm gettin' frowned and clowned on
But the only one who's
was better and now your deader, than a (door knob) eh wrong
So what's your name?
(I'm the Com that wrote Com Sense, and when I don't got scratch)
bad
It's not so bad
Dear Slim, I wrote you but still ain't callin'
I left my cell, my pager, and my home phone at the bottom
I sent two letters back in
y'all see)
And how I feel 'bout you (and it don't describe what he is to me) (uh, uh)
I go by the name Kanye Omari
And I wrote this just to say I'm
never knew how to cope
With loved ones letting go
By forces who don't know his name
The man picked up his old guitar
He wrote a song about how lonely it
I ain't a game player
If a kid act foul wit me
He'll get shot
Down by three
Now that's a game changer look
I know I
Don't know why
I'm like this
to see
Niggas pussy won't see me with me
Niggas got beef they can leave it to me
My niggas shoot shit no DVD
No TNT we ain't shooting scenes
3 shots 2
Be Heard,' probably thought he worked my nerves
But really he was stressing me, getting what I deserved
Somebody said my name on the radio
He ain't
said my name on the radio
He ain't know I was ready
For the world that minute
So the next time he roll up
And drop grams in it
He probably be out
would mispronounce my name
Or real Hip Hoppers that be wishin rap saved
Or crooked CEOs that look at rappers like slaves
Northside what I claim, Northwest
his brother Abel's brains
In, the only motivation he needed was his own
Human disposition to violence
Whether you interpret
The Bible as literature
I once was lost in sin but Jesus took me in
Well then a little light from heaven healed my soul
Well, he bathed my heart in love, and wrote my name
You got me feelin' as naughty as Cosby
When he was smackin' them bitches
If I was actually givin' a flyin' fuck, I would give it
But I think my body is
you still up in that casket?
How the fuck is you my opp? I never seen you, boy, you chattin'
Wrote this shit in blood, big ol' Bs, bitch, what's
up by a hardcore hip-hopper?
Forgot ya signed to Cappa, a real Donnie Brasco
A nigga wit' mics and tape recorders, all up in his asshole
Speakin'
up by a hardcore hip-hopper?
Forgot ya signed to Cappa, a real Donnie Brasco
A nigga wit' mics and tape recorders, all up in his asshole
Speakin'
eyes watching like the headless
horsemen, scribbling my name on their hit list
I'd rather see my nom-de-plume written by Schindler
In Japanese characters
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