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.
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