"Intro / A Million And One Questions / Rhyme No More" lyrics
Somebody's pulling me closer to the ground
I ain't panicked, I been here before
Seems like only yesterday when I got up on that stage
In front of that crowd
And showed them who was who, and what was what
Man look at these suckers
I ain't no rapper, I'm a hustler
It just so happens that I know how to rap
OK, I'm reloaded!
A million
Uh-huh, I did it again niggas
Fucked up, right? Ha, I know
I know what y'all niggas asking yourself
Is he gon' ever fall off?
No
...A lot of speculation
On the monies I've made, honies I've slayed
How is he for real? Is that nigga really paid?
Hustlers I've met or, dealt with direct
Is it true he stayed in beef and slept with a TEC?
What's the position you hold?
Can you really match a triple platinum artist buck by buck
But only a single goin' gold?
If Roc-A-Fella should fold, and you're left out in the cold
Is it back to charging motherfuckers 11 for an O?
For the millionth time, asking me questions
Like Wendy Williams, harassing me
Then get upset when I catch feelings
Can I get a minute to breathe? And in that minute you leave
While I'm looking at my Rol' ice spinning on my sleeve
Ugh, nice watch, do you really have a spot?
Like you said in Friend or Foe and if so, what block?
What you doing in L.A., with Filipinos and Eses?
Latinos and Chevys, down by Pico with Frederico
I'll answer all your questions but then y'all got to go
Now the question I ask you is, "How bad you wanna know?"
Blaow!
A million
Roc-A-Fella y'all, uh, uh
Know my style
Motherfuckers can't rhyme no more, 'bout crime no more
'Til I'm no more, 'cause I'm so raw
My flow expose holes that they find in yours
Wasn't for me, niggas still be dying for whores
But I hate when a nigga sit back, admiring yours
Young blood, you better get that, we frying because
Niggas don't want to be confined to riding the iron horse
And don't listen to the rappers yo, they're dying to floss
I used to be O.T., applyin' the force
Shoot up the whole block, then the iron I toss
Come back with the clique playing Diana Ross
I'm the boss and this is how it's gon' be
Burnt the turnpike, wild miles on the V
I got mouths to feed 'til they put flowers on me
And kiss my cold cheek, chicks crying like I was Cochise
Tombstone read, "He was holdin' no leaks"
Started from the crack game and then so sweet
Freaked it to the rap game, Jigga the O.G
On MTV, telling 'em how I sold D
And used to bag work up out of apartment 4-B
Me and my homie, started out co-ds
Picked the mailbox lock 'cause I ain't have no key
Had the cable with the anchor when Jaz made 'Sophie'
Then I went low key, but now I'm back, it's on
Motherfuckers!
Jigga, uh-huh, yeah
Roc-A-Fella y'all, uh
Uh, feel this
I ain't panicked, I been here before
Seems like only yesterday when I got up on that stage
In front of that crowd
And showed them who was who, and what was what
Man look at these suckers
I ain't no rapper, I'm a hustler
It just so happens that I know how to rap
OK, I'm reloaded!
A million
Uh-huh, I did it again niggas
Fucked up, right? Ha, I know
I know what y'all niggas asking yourself
Is he gon' ever fall off?
No
...A lot of speculation
On the monies I've made, honies I've slayed
How is he for real? Is that nigga really paid?
Hustlers I've met or, dealt with direct
Is it true he stayed in beef and slept with a TEC?
What's the position you hold?
Can you really match a triple platinum artist buck by buck
But only a single goin' gold?
If Roc-A-Fella should fold, and you're left out in the cold
Is it back to charging motherfuckers 11 for an O?
For the millionth time, asking me questions
Like Wendy Williams, harassing me
Then get upset when I catch feelings
Can I get a minute to breathe? And in that minute you leave
While I'm looking at my Rol' ice spinning on my sleeve
Ugh, nice watch, do you really have a spot?
Like you said in Friend or Foe and if so, what block?
What you doing in L.A., with Filipinos and Eses?
Latinos and Chevys, down by Pico with Frederico
I'll answer all your questions but then y'all got to go
Now the question I ask you is, "How bad you wanna know?"
Blaow!
A million
Roc-A-Fella y'all, uh, uh
Know my style
Motherfuckers can't rhyme no more, 'bout crime no more
'Til I'm no more, 'cause I'm so raw
My flow expose holes that they find in yours
Wasn't for me, niggas still be dying for whores
But I hate when a nigga sit back, admiring yours
Young blood, you better get that, we frying because
Niggas don't want to be confined to riding the iron horse
And don't listen to the rappers yo, they're dying to floss
I used to be O.T., applyin' the force
Shoot up the whole block, then the iron I toss
Come back with the clique playing Diana Ross
I'm the boss and this is how it's gon' be
Burnt the turnpike, wild miles on the V
I got mouths to feed 'til they put flowers on me
And kiss my cold cheek, chicks crying like I was Cochise
Tombstone read, "He was holdin' no leaks"
Started from the crack game and then so sweet
Freaked it to the rap game, Jigga the O.G
On MTV, telling 'em how I sold D
And used to bag work up out of apartment 4-B
Me and my homie, started out co-ds
Picked the mailbox lock 'cause I ain't have no key
Had the cable with the anchor when Jaz made 'Sophie'
Then I went low key, but now I'm back, it's on
Motherfuckers!
Jigga, uh-huh, yeah
Roc-A-Fella y'all, uh
Uh, feel this
Writer(s): Christopher Martin, Shawn Carter
