Lyrics
“Woke up this morning, you got yourself
Yourself, yourself, yourself”
In a lot of sh** !
That you can’t even get yourself out of motha f*** a
Your ass has got to go, and it ain’t gonna be me either n***
I already know that
Ugh, yeah
Turn my headphones up, ugh, ugh, ugh
Verse 1:
First off, f*** you b*** , and that sh** you said
Was like 35,000 feet above your head
I thought that you were coo, but now you’re just a joke
Now I gotta put you out, like you just got smoked
Callin’ Ibe Wazir out was your first mistake
Told ya my flows were Frosted Flakes, “They’rrrrrre Great!”
n*** on my soundclick, invadin’ my space
Stay off my dick and get the f*** outta my face
‘Fore I come to the Bay, sh** on your whole brigade
While y’all marchin’ in the Bay Area’s Gay Parade
What, you didn’t think I knew about that? I spit facts
Take advice from Ludacris n*** and “Get Back”
You that same cat that hates when they rap ‘bout gats
Come through the hood, you would be the first to get jacked
And keep swingin’ on me wit your little weak ass punch lines
I’ll eat ‘em all up like I’m Biggie at lunchtime
Chorus:
I’m sorry, but DeOner’s gotta go
That means tell Derrick Joyner, he gotta go
Even Bobby Ruckus gotta go
And the rest of you motha f*** as gotta go
(Repeat)
Verse 2:
Yo, Everytime I flip the script, it’s irreversible
Look, this ain’t business no more, sh** is personal
This about to be a Kodak moment
Why don’t you put your shoes up, or a throw back on it
F*** in’ fag! All y’all need to jump on a boat
You f*** in’ sound like Magoo, wit a lump in his throat
I’m a grown ass man, ain’t sh** you can do to me
Wait a couple years till your ass hits puberty
And I’ll be right here waitin’
Put you in another life threatenin’ situation
But this time, I’m gonna get the job done
Have ya layin’ 6 feet deep under the sun
Little f** , you see more balls than Serena
And ain’t nobody gonna f*** in’ buy “The Arena”
This is straight from the Midwest, Marshall, MO
I’m ‘bout to put us on the map, you can check my stats
(Chorus)
Verse 3:
Yes, it’s the I to the B, E-zy dogg
Here’s a T.I.P. “Be Easy” dogg
Just face it, you don’t know sh** about me
Hip hop forums wouldn’t be sh** without me
I’ll admit, I grew up in the church
I’m a Minister Of Music, still puttin’ in work
Everything I posses, I done got on my own
It’s time y’all respected me and left me alone
So what I shoot hoops, big f*** in’ deal
My music will still bring me, big f*** in’ deals
And that’s real, so like you said “Quit Trippin”
A cat can snatch my tongue, but I’ll keep spittin’
What’s wrong, you surred? cause you too quiet
Catch me in my tux, I’ll start a zoot suit riot
And walk out this motha f*** a “Extra Fresh”
The worse thing to ever happen to you, next to death
(Chorus)
