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I hate gossip,And I don't walk around looking for it, you know? But yesterday it seemed to just wander until it found me,You know like,Gossip found meThen why don't you just provin' itHow? You don't know how to prove it?,Well, what you just do is.Stop, hatin' on a niggaThat is a weak emotionThe lady of a niggaAnd you could get tippedLike ya waitin' on a nigga, Put a body bag and an apron on a niggaI give my all behind the mic,But you could never see, if you sit behind the lightYou don't have to pick me, to win the title fightBut I'm a wear that championship belt so tightAnd if I'm wrong, there is no rightAnd if I'm wrong, there is no whiteI'm tryna be po-lite, but you bitches in my hair like the fucking Po-liceMy flow is rare, these other rappers nice,These other rappers bark,Letras de cancionesSome of em' even biteBut I'm much more brightI give the game sightSo before you dim the light you just might, might, wannaThink it over (think it over) oohThink it over (think it over) baby babyStop, analyzin' critacizin',You should realize what I am and start epidamizin'Legitimate, I got the heart of the biggest lionI'm confident like fuck 'em all pull out my dick and ride itMy flow sick, so sick, it's like my shit is dyin'It rains a lot in my city, because my citys cryin'because my citys dyin'But I emerge from all of that, I am a livin pio-neer, sighin'Fear God, not themSteer my Robin Coupe through the streets of the booth andSoo-wooAnd, then I leek a tub in the boot, I leave a blood bath,Sorry there's a tub in the boot, now where the drugs at?I'm twisted like the strings on a shoeNo nigga fuck thatI'm twisted like the strings on a boot, Now where New Orleans at?I feel hip hop stole me like a bus passSo in your possession, I, I must askHey, haven't I been good to you? (Think it over)Tell me, haven't I been sweet to you?Drag my name through the mudI come out cleanCast away stonesI won't even blinkA gun is not a math problem,I won't even thinkJust leave you dead like the meat under my sinkDon't believe in meDon't believe meI've graduated from hungry,And made it to greedyMy flow is like pastaTake it and eat itBut I'm a need cheese if I'm bakin' a zitiYou niggas want beef?I want a steak in the weed BLost in Amsterdam or Jamaica where weed beHard body nigga, takin' it easyAll about my paper, bout my paper like EazyWhy do rappers, lot of rappers, lot of fans, lot of rappers, lot of rappersLie like actin', cut the motherfuckin' camerasCut the check, nigga fuck your popsAnd make it out to Mr. Hip HopI'm not dead, I'm alive And I ain't dead I'm alive From Letras Mania