Lyrics:
on
The telephone, we finally arrived at the truth of the matter and he said
That we had to go down and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and
Speak
to more green backs than
Feathers to a bird's wing
Creep MC's people's heads are full
Of your worthless garbage a bunch o' bull
My stuff got you started, no
I'm getting by with my wicked ways
I'm loading up and I'm taking names
I wanna dig my way to hell
I wanna dig my way to hell
I'm getting by
Feel like I been in love
Getting sweaty palms
Everytime I see your face like middle school
Talking to Father Time (Can ya)
Extend this moment
Ain't
is
Her specialty, after all hands come up
One by one "Oh my god, Rihmeek, "
Nicki groans exaggeratedly, invoking Meek's
Middle name for effect "Every
your CITY, with your whole damn COMMITTEE
Your butt-ass rhymes are all SHITTY
So don't riff cause I'm in a class by myself
Make like a ventriloquist,
the morning, spoil your appetite
Liquor pouring and niggas swarming your section with erection
Smoke in every direction, middle finger pedestrians
R&B singers
you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed
With
The blood of the fools and
The thoughts of the wise and
From the pan under your bed.
Porsche socks and it came with the coupe
I fucked her last night, she was the truth
First class flight, I flew out your boo
Her head right but that pussy
tell me why, why can't I sing by your side
Cos when I met up with Rosenberg, and Neil took our picture
I said I wish you would make me your side bitch,
calling (Do you hear me calling)
Please pick up your phone girl do you hear me calling (Oh oh oh)
Do you hear me calling (My girl)
Do you hear me calling
calling (do you hear me calling)
Please pick up your phone girl do you hear me calling (oh oh oh)
Do you hear me calling (my girl)
Do you hear me calling
the trademark's could be seen as sad
That knockoff brand, low class but
Never lacking, some years we rocked bus passes
I sit here in this middle class, and choose
and old)
(This definitely a head banger)
In the back of the class sippin my juice with Devon
(If you ain't got your hands up then somethin wrong with you)
(I
to me
I got Bobby by the pound, Whitney by the key
DJ Screw by the gallon, bitch the game belong to me
Man I pull up in your city and get my Bush
else
Hope your heart sinks in your chest, flat line
You never gonna be up to par with me, uh
You'll never make it to the back nine
You gettin middle
priceless nigga
You understand me? Either you wit us, or you ain't wit us
Either you in the huddle or ya out da huddle
Either you ride or pass and fly by
Educational voids and second-class
Citizenship that still exist in many
Backsliding areas of our own country when
We've cleaned up these blemishes
Then we can
Throw up ya hands to it
Go head, call 'em pops
Girl what's it gon' take to have you close to me
Right by my side where you supposed to be
They start
Wake up! It's the first of the month. Split the curtain for
sun, light some herb in a blunt, let the earth in your lungs.
If you're thirsty, get
your roster?
I pull up in that new new, marinara and pasta
Shake my head, yo, I'm mad, ain't a bitch in my zone
In the middle of nowhere, I just
this dad hat
Strap to your gap like a SnapBack
Imma go pull up on dotty he wanna crash the party
Chezz got your Bitch on molly she giving head so
the middle, there's a war inside my head
Yeah, I'm stuck
Yeah, I'm stuck
Yeah, I'm stuck
Yeah, I'm stuck
In the middle, cause one day I want your love
But
But they continue to shoot, I'm just gon' cover my head
I need to duck and not move (look), I bust a move when I (uh)
Find a way to get on and get up
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