Lyrics:
Nummer eins
Siehst du rot, wie Heinz und sperrst ihn ein
Quälst ihn mit Simple Minds, bis er weint
Das ist Liebe, das ist Liebe, das ist Liebe, das
Welcome to Rap Opera, the mind of a guy that is not pop enough
Fuck Wagner the times too tough to be pessimistic so his time is up
I today waver
a number
Add it on up to twenty-five
The joke is on you, I'm still fucking alive
Had to drive by with the beat tape up in my mind
And combined with
Big Daddy Kane catch a vibe/
I was raised by the Rap Gods/ raised by the rap gods
I was Raised by the Rap Gods/ raised by the rap gods
Prodigy, Guru,
tears fall and seep
Deep into my pillow
Mind race like the Indy 500
Spine tingling in my slumber
Paralyzed by the truths of my life
Turn onto my cheek
I met you in a club in Atlanta, Georgia
Said me and my homeboy were coming out with an album
You looked at me like, "Yeah, nigga right"
But you
Abra-abracadabra
Abracadabra
Abracadabra, alakazam
How do he make all these albums be ill?
Simple; by usin' the alchemy skills
But I'm warnin' ya; don't try
Absolutely, I always say that for
Their minds to interpret it, they have to
Draw a comparison and I always say
Even though it's very common, it's just a
More
cause I hold my own
Twenty four seven in that zone
Wrote an album in two weeks its gold
Hit my line it my phone for more
People always want have my sound
really that simple shit get harder by the week
I’m keeping at it coz I wanna see me eat, dawg.
Cop me a new crib, dawg.
Get my momma rich , dawg.
She ain’t
Put 2 in his legs
I’m on a pill that’s red
Feel like the one who choosen
By the way hoes been giving me head
...Damn near leaving me dead
Damn there
from the norms
And soon millions of folk
Records were being sold
By the early sixties, Dylan, Baez, Phil Ochs
Were doing intellectualized copies
that outlives him
Like Malcolm did, we are out of sync
And out of time by the sound of things
Arms long like Dhalsim is how to win
Best murder machine
I met you in a club in Atlanta, Georgia
Said me and my homeboy were coming out with an album
You looked at me like, "Yeah, nigga right"
But you
no drive-by's
We walked over
COB bandana tied to the end of the AR
Iller than they are, rhymes so sick
Give 'em the day off
This is the chaos, Nicolas
Turn the fucking lights out
I’m sitting here by myself
With a pencil tryina get the lines out
Of an empty mind in a night cloud
Full of doubt
Still
the sleepers put they mind to rest
So its a simple process
Thats why they got the clausese
To turn our
Forward progress into steady pauses I can't count
the glove
You know what to do
As I cruise it feels like a vacation
Mind on calm and my pulse not racing
Breathe on yoga
I practice meditation
My shoulders
the glove
You know what to do
As I cruise it feels like a vacation
Mind on calm and my pulse not racing
Breathe on yoga
I practice meditation
My shoulders
said shit would be simple, get rich and stay out the trenches, Lincoln Continental
Remember back to get by applyin' fundamental
In these streets you
logical fuck an obstical bitch
How can I make twelve albums
All them gold and platinum's
And I am still clowin'
It ain't hard
I used to be a broke
up straight out as I'm talkin'
But you gotta have control if you want the gold
I don't want to be alone like Stallone
So I keep my mind thinkin' 'bout
about that
Everybody's happy
There were good times
Bad times
Some times I'd rather not mention
Life keeps on coming and we let it
It's just as simple
Everybody's happy
There were good times
Bad times
Some times I'd rather not mention
Life keeps on coming
And we let it
It's just as simple as I made it
There
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