Gossip

I hate gossip And I don't walk around looking for it, you know? But, yesterday it seemed to just Wander around 'til it found me You know like, the gossip found me Then why don't try provin' it? How? You don't know how to prove it? Well, what you just do is, stop (Street runner) Stop hatin' on a nigga That is a weak emotion, the lady of a nigga And you can get tipped like you're waitin' on a nigga Put a body bag and a apron on a nigga I give my all behind the mic But you can never see if you sit behind the light And you don't have to pick me to win the title fight But I'mma wear that championship belt so tight And if I'm wrong, there is no right And if I'm wrong, there is Snow White I'm tryna be polite But you bitches in my hair like the fuckin' po-lice And my flow is rare, these other rappers nice These other rappers bark, some of 'em even bite But I'm much more bright, I give the game sight So before you dim the light, you just might, might wanna Think it over Oh, think it over Think it over, baby baby (Get 'em) Stop! analyzing, criticizing You should realize what I am and start epitomizing Legitimate, I got the heart of the biggest lion I'm confident, like fuck 'em all, pull out my dick and ride it My flow sick, so sick, it's like my shit is dying It rains a lot in my city because my city's crying Because my city's dying Still I emerge from all of that, I am a living pion–eer, near Zion Fear God, not them, steer my robin coupe Through the streets of the Boot, and soo-woo! And then I leak blood in the booth, I leave a bloodbath Sorry, there's a tub in the booth, now where the drugs at? I'm twisted like the strings on a shoe, no, nigga, fuck that I'm twisted like the strings on a boot, now where New Orleans at? I feel hip-hop stole me like a bus pass So in your possession, I-I-I must ask Hey, haven't I been good to you? (Think it over) Tell me, haven't I been sweet to you? Drag my name through the mud, I come out clean Cast away stones, I won't even blink A gun is not a math problem, I won't even think Just leave you dead like the mink under my sink Don't believe in me, don't believe me I graduated from hungry and made it to greedy My flow is like pasta, take it and eat it But I'm gon' need cheese if I'm baking a ziti You niggas want beef, I want a steak, and, uh, we be Lost in Amsterdam or Jamaica where weed be Hardbody nigga just takin' it easy All about my paper, 'bout my paper like E-Z Wider wrappers, why do rappers lie to fans, lie to rappers? Lot of rappers lie like actors, cut the motherfuckin' cameras Cut the check, nigga, fuck your props And make it out to "Mr. Hip-Hop" I'm not dead, I'm alive