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(Intro: Bizarre) |
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The rap game, hip hop 101 |
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The hardest 9-to-5 you'll ever have |
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You can't learn this shit in no history book |
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You ready to rap, motherf**ker? |
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You ready to sell your soul? |
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Hahaha, the rap game, motherf**ker! |
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(Verse 1: Swift) |
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I'm a disrupted nigga, you made me crazy |
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You should've slayed me as a baby |
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Behaving shadier than Wes Craven |
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And you ain't even gotta pay me |
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I take pleasure of laying a nigga down daily |
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You face me, punk, it's over, you'll faint fast |
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I'm never f**ked up to where I can't whoop yo' ass |
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Your neck'll get snapped with bare hands; f**k music |
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Is he rappin'? It's cool, but fools, just don't confuse it |
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What happens: these dudes get rude, then I lose it |
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I'm scandalous, I'll blow your two kids off the atlas |
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With a gat that's bigger than Godzilla's back, nigga |
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You are not realer, in fact, you'll feel the effects |
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Of a crack dealer, y'all presidents sends me smack |
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And got a MAC-10 with it, so I ain't gotta rap |
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But I'm thankful for that, don't mistaken me, black |
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Or you'll be stanking in the back of a fucking Cadillac |
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(Verse 2: Eminem) |
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I'ma get snuffed, ‘cause I ain't said enough to pipe down |
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I'll pipe down when the {White House} gets wiped out |
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When I see that little {Cheney} dyke get sniped out |
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Lights out, bitch, adiós, goodnight {*gunshot*} (AHH!) |
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Now put that in your little pipe and bite down |
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Think for a minute, ‘cause the hype just died down |
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That I won't go up in the Oval Office right now |
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And flip whatever ain't tied down upside down |
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I'm all for America; fuck the government! |
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Tell that C. Delores Tucker slut to suck a dick |
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Motherf**ker ducked, what the fuck? Son of a b**ch! |
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Take away my gun, I'm gonna tuck some other shit |
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Can't tell me shit about the tricks of this trade |
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Switchblade, with a little switch to switch blades |
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And switch from a six to a sixteen inch blade |
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Shit's like a samurai sword; a sensei |
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Shit just don't change to this day |
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I'm this way, still tell that ut-slay itch-bay |
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Uck-say my ick-day, 'scuse my ig-pay atin-lay |
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But uck-fay you ig-pay (50!!!) |
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(Hook : 50 Cent) |
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This rap game, this rap game |
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I ain't selling my soul for this rap game |
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And I ain't digging no hole for this rap game |
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Man, I'm telling you: no, it ain't happening |
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This rap game, this rap game |
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I ain't selling my soul for this rap game |
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I ain't digging no hole for this rap game |
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This rap game, this rap game |
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(Verse 3: Kon Artis) |
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I bet you'd rather me drink and drown in my own inequity |
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But fuck that! I'ma rap until y'all all get sick of me |
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And clutch my nut sack and spit all who pick at me |
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A pitt and rott mix, f**k the dogs you sic on me |
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I'm saying you motherf**kers don't know us, quit playing |
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If I'm broke, then I'm breaking up in the place where you laying |
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You know, same shit every nigga done in his life |
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I look at this, why speak on what I want when I write? |
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So why should I ever fear another man? |
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If he bleed like I bleed, take a piss and he stand? |
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Okay, you win, you can say we can't rap, but no Source never made me not buy an album when they say it was wack |
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(Verse 4: Kuniva) |
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I walk in that party and just start bustin' |
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Right after I hear the last verse of "Self Destruction" |
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This liquor makes me wanna blast the chrome |
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To let you know the time without Morris Day and Jerome |
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I'm low down and shifty, quickly call Swifty |
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To do a drive-by on the tenth speed with 50 |
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You're feeling lucky? Squeeze |
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I catch you outside of Chuck E. Cheese |
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With your seed, you be an unlucky G |
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My lifestyle is unstable: a partying addict |
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They said, "No fighting in the club" – so I brought me a 'matic |
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Coughing the static, I jump niggas; call me a rabbit |
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Popping the tablet and guns that saw you in half with |
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(Bridge: 50 Cent) |
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Believe me, we run this rap shit, fo' sheezy |
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Make making millions look easy |
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Everywhere you turn, you see me, you hear me |
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Believe me, before you see my pistol in 3D |
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No time to call a peace treaty |
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Dial 911, ‘cause you need the police to help you believe me |
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(Verse 5: Proof) |
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I snatch the chalk from the sidewalk and piss on the curb |
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This is absurd, these street niggas twistin' my words |
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We finally could say goodbye to Hollywood |
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‘Cause Proof and Shyne, man, shit, nothing in common |
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The nastiest band with gats in each hand |
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We never bow down to be a flash in the pan |
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No remorse; f**k your stature, dog! |
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Nothing to do with hands when I clap at y'all |
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Put your jaw on the ground with the four and the pound |
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Then I'm gone outta town 'fore the law come around |
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So we can battle with raps, we can battle with gats |
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Matter of fact, we can battle for plaques |
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(Verse 6: Bizarre) |
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(This rap game…) I'm too f**king retarded |
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I don't give a fuck about my dick |
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That's why I'm dating Lorena Bobbitt |
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My crew had an argument, who was the largest |
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Now they all is dead and I roll as a solo artist |
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Plus I made all the beats and wrote all the raps |
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Well, I really didn't, but I did according to this contract |
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I was thrown in the snow with nowhere to go |
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Freezing 20 below, forced to join Bel Biv Devoe |
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My little girl, she shouldn't listen to these lyrics |
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That's why I glued her headphones to her ear |
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To make sure she hear it |
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If rap don't work, I'm starting a group with Garth Brooks |
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Hahahaha, 50, sing the hook! |
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(Hook : 50 Cent) |
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This rap game, this rap game |
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I ain't selling my soul for this rap game |
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And I ain't digging no hole for this rap game |
| [04:54.88] |
Man, I'm telling you: no, it ain't happening |
| [04:57.53] |
This rap game, this rap game |
| [04:59.87] |
I ain't selling my soul for this rap game |
| [05:02.36] |
I ain't digging no hole for this rap game |
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This rap game, this rap game |
