2008 BET Hip Hop Awards - Cypher 1

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Hurricane Chris] [?] paper, I got long paper Long paper like the teeth of an alligator I'm stacking paper, I get ratchet And I go up and down on your girl like an elevator Me, I'm after money, six-hunnid Five-fifty, get with me, I'm nifty So fast, fo'-fifty Foe with the shift kick so fast only I'm shifty So nifty, you ain't even on my level I'm hot as the devil, boilin' like I'm a tea kettle You could come and try to try me, I'ma knock you out like I'm Ali You don't even need to see my ID And you know that I'm real, you could check my street background Heaters'll clap at ya, make your whole clique back down I nevеr have been a lame, you ask your baby momma I beat it out thе frame [Verse 2: K'naan] Uh, yeah I take rappers on a field trip any day They never been opposite real clip anyway I know where all the looters and the shooters stay I'm from a city they call Doomsday And rappers are just fried chicken like Tuesday Are you from hood, huh? Who say My Nigerian thugs will call you [?] Around here we only bumpin' Fela Kuti 2Pac or Bob Marley, Lucky Dube So we don't really give a F about what you say [?] [?] [?] [?] [?] [?] [?] [Verse 3: Bun B] Well, the Underground King is back And you know I'm comin' through, man, I bring my hat And then I rock it to the left, that's the Rap-a-Lot lean I'm a Rap-a-Lot rapper, on the Rap-a-Lot scene Representin' Port Arthur Texas to the fullest I didn't bring my gun, but I still got bullets I spit heat rocks all on the mic I'm an Underground King, so I do what I like, and I Give a shoutout to the victims of Hurricane Ike Keep your head up, I never let up, yo These haters keep talkin' trash, I'm fed up, yo I'm 'bout to smack him right out of his get up, yo 'Cause it's a costume he's wearin' He's a cartoon character, I'm not hearin' you You's a faker, fronter and a phony Bun B, I'm all about the mon-ey [Verse 4: Q-Tip] Yo, yo, yo Your dubious style may rock for right now But in the long run you really lost one Jamaica, Queens, man, land of the tossed gun It's never easy, police no sees we Go through the check point birds flipped to Po 9 I got a bad bird nicknamed The Sunshine I treats her so kind, sweet nothings at night-time And to the right tune we hit the right grind I dig her fashion, smash into my memory And in the club shorty stays rear endin' me A humble dude, but never will pretend to be The type of dude that's desired for this industry Came in as [?] and I'ma leave me And in the end, B, you will believe me That I'ma do me, so what's a industry If the listeners will always stand beside me? Let's go, B