Tonart: Gb major
Verse 1
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Hip -hop is not a music category.
It's a culture.
It's a culture.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
You want something done right,
you gotta do it yourself.
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You gotta do it yourself
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You want something done right
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But you gotta do it yourself
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You gotta do it yourself
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Em
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Don't underestimate me
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cause I do po etry
My rhyme is sweet but deadly
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Turn your platinum and ice
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Cause all you do is skeet on the mic
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With trite slang, talking yang -yang
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While I speak your lang -ya -lang
With lyric, aromatic
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Ain't gotta spit no gung -thick shit
Em
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Cause life is hardcore enough
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Don't need to wax gangsta to be tough
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Being black in
America is rough
Em
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Plus, cuz
Em
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You the only bitch ever
Em
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You invented sexin'
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or somethin'?
Well, why you always talk about it then?
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What, your pen ran out of ink?
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What, your mind has ceased to think?
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Let mass media determine your worth?
Em
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Still the right
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God gave you since birth?
First woman on
Earth?
A
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Burberry shirt won't
make you no queen
Em
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And last time I checked,
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being a whore wasn't synonymous with warriors
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So take that fake identity back to the store,
D
Or better yet, get some respect
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Kill mass media's fingers off
from around your neck
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Give them a swift ass kick and
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Go on about your way and
have a nice day
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Okay, okay
Watch, watch
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I'ma bust this,
Em
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Em
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roll this shit real tight like a spliff tip
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Em
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Bounce to this yo, check this
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Em
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Em
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Em
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Pay attention my niggas,
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while my flow I can figure
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so you can't change it
Em
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Rearrange it, these hip -hop
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commandments transcendent
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I rise above ordinariness, yo,
D
this don't be blessed with
Liquid knowledge, soul porridge,
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you'll be with a high wattage
Step back, yo, I got this
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Yo, I got this
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Tongues of flame hover over me
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As I speak in lost language,
you spit like fire
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Retire your rhyme attempt, son
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You can't fuck with the divine, dun
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You can't fuck with the divine, dun
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My words are written on scrolls of the
Dead
Sea
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Retreat before my lyrical army
make you a mockery
Heed the prophecy,
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turn bold to make this truth I speak
Em
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Bm
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Heed the prophecy
Bm
Don't underestimate me
My rhyme is sweet but deadly
Em
D
Bm
Turn your platinum and
Bm
Cause all you do is skeet on the mic
D
Bm
With trite slang, talking yang -y ang
D
While I speak your language
D
Ain't gotta spit no gung -thick shit
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Em
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Cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss, cuss,
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Em
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Em
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Bm
background
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Em
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Em
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Em
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I'm
You
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