Оригинален текст
I am not a human being uh,
P**** for lunch
Pop all the balloons and spit in the punch, yeah,
Kush and the blunts
I ride through your block see a foot in the trunk
I don't know why they keep playin'
They better replay 'em giving them the blues Bobby "Blue" Bland (blues singer)
Together we stand and fall on y'all
Ballin' with my bloods, call it b-ball
These days ain't s*** Young Money is
I got mars bars three musketeers
Come through coupe same colour as veneers
And you know I'm riding with the toast, cheers! (Reason he's in jail)
Yeah, now I'm back on my grizz
And y'all's a bunch a squares like a muthaf***ing grid
S*** f*** with me and get hit
I finger f*** the Nina make the b**** have kids
Just do it my n**** I just did
Name a muthaf***er deeper than me b**** dead
Ya dig, this here is big biz and I scream f*** it whoever it is
[Chorus]
I am the Rhyming Oasis
I got a cup of ya time I wont waste it
I got my foot on the line I'm not racin'
I thank god that I am not basic
I am not basic
I am not a human being
Uh, rockstar baby
Now come to my suite and get lockjaw baby
Rich n**** lookin at the cops all crazy
Its the mob s*** n**** Martin Scorsese
Heater close range, 'cause people are strange
But I bet that AK 47 keep you ordained
You cant see Weezy nor Wayne
I'm in the far lane, I'm running this s***, hundred yard gain
Uh, swag on infinity
I'm killing em, see the white flag from the enemy
Shoot you in the head and leave your dash full of memories
Father forgive me for my brash delivery
I will try you, I wouldn't lie you
I must be sticky 'cause them b****es got they eyes glued
Young money baby we the s*** like fly food
Y'all cant see us, like the bride shoes.
I stand tall like a muthaf***in 9'2
I scream motherf*** you and whoever design you
And if you think you hot then obviously you are lied to
And we don't die, we multiply and then we come divide you.
[Chorus]
Re-Reporting from another world
Magazine full of bullets you can be my cover girl
Ness go the weed thicker than a southern girl
Strong arm rap like a n**** did a hundred curls
Rock star biatch, check out how we rock
And if this ain't hip hop, it must be me hop
I'm higher than a tree top
She lick my lolipop
I still get my candy from your girlfriends sweet shop
Spitting that he rock I'm smooth not Pete Rock
And my money on et cetera - 3 dots
Still get a stomach ache every time I see cops
You better run mothaf***a, 'cause we not
You better run till your feet stop
You ain't even on a f***ing alphabet in my tea pot
Colder than a ski shop
Holding on to the top, and even if I let go I still wont G-rock
[Chorus]
