No More Parties in LA

Lyrics

[Intro: Johnny "Guitar" Watson & Junie Morrison] La-di-da-da-a, da-a (I like this flavor) La-da-da-da-di-da-da-a, la-a (La-a, la-a, la-a) Let me tell you, I'm out here From a very far away place All for a chance to be a star Nowhere seems to be too far [Chorus: Kanye West, Junie Morrison & Ghostface Killah] No more parties in L.A. Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh No more parties in L.A. Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh No more (Los Angeles) Please (Shake that body, party that bod—) Please (Shake that body, party that bod—) Please (Shake that body, party that body) [Verse 1: Kendrick Lamar & Kanye West] Hey, baby, you forgot your Ray Bans And my sheets still orange from your spray-tan It was more than soft porn for the K-Man She remember my Sprinter, said "I was in the grape van" Um—well, cutie, I like your bougie booty Come, Erykah Badu-me—well, let's make a movie Hell, you know my repertoire is like a wrestler I show you the ropes, connect the dots A country girl in North Hollywood Mama used to cook red beans and rice Now it's Denny's, 4 in the morning, spoil your appetite Liquor pouring and niggas swarming your section with erection Smoke in every direction, middle finger pedestrians R&B singers and lesbians, rappers and managers Music and iPhone cameras This shit unanimous for you, it's damaging for you, I think That pussy should only be holding exclusive rights to me, I mean He flew you in this motherfucker on first class Even went out his way so you could check in an extra bag Now you wanna divide the yam like it equate the math? That shit don't add up, you're making him mad as fuck She said she came out here to find an A-list rapper I said, "Baby, spin that 'round and say the alphabet backwards" You're dealing with malpractice, don't kill a good nigga's confidence Just 'cause he a nerd and you don't know what a condom is The head still good, though; the head still good, though Make me say "Nam Myoho Renge Kyo" Make a nigga say big words and act lyrical Make me get spiritual, make me believe in miracles Buddhist monks and Cap'n Crunch cereal Lord have mercy, thou will not hurt me Five buddies all herded up on a Thursday Bottle service, head service, I came in first place The opportunity, the proper top of breast and booty cheek The pop community, I mean these bitches come with union fee And I want two of these, moving units through consumer streets Then my shoe released, she was kickin' in gratuity And yeah, G, I was all for it She said, "K-Lamar, you kinda dumb to be a poet I'ma put you on game for the lames that don't know they a rookie Instagram is the best way to promote some pussy" [Chorus: Kanye West] Scary, scary No more parties in L.A. Please, baby, no more parties in L.A. [Verse 2: Kanye West] Friday night, tryna make it into the city Breakneck speeds, passenger seat—somethin' pretty Thinking back to how I got here in the first place Second-class bitches wouldn't let me on first base A backpack nigga with luxury tastebuds And the Louis Vuitton store got all of my pay stubs Got pussy from beats I did for niggas more famous When did I become A-list? I wasn't even on a list Strippers get invited to where they only got hired When I get on my Steve Jobs, somebody gon' get fired I was uninspired since Lauryn Hill retired And 3 Stacks, man, you preaching to the choir Any rumor you ever heard about me was true and legendary I done got Lewinsky'd and paid secretaries For all my niggas with babies by bitches That use they kids as meal tickets Not knowin' the disconnect from the father The next generation will be the real victims I can't fault 'em, really I 'member Amber told my boy No matter what happens, she ain't goin' back to Philly Back to our regularly scheduled programmin' Of weak content and slow jammin' But don't worry, this one's so jammin' You know it, L.A., it's so jammin' I be thinkin' every day Mulholland Drive need to put up some goddamn barricades I be paranoid every time, the pressure The problem ain't I be drivin', the problem is I be textin' My psychiatrist got kids that I inspired First song they played for me was 'bout their friend that just died Textin' and drivin' down Mulholland Drive That's why I'd rather take the 405 I be worried 'bout my daughter, I be worried 'bout Kim But Saint is baby Ye, I ain't worried 'bout him Had my life threatened by best friends with selfish intents What I'm supposed to do? Ride around with a bulletproof car and some tints? Every agent I know know I hate agents I'm too black, I'm too vocal, I'm too flagrant Something smellin' like shit, that's the new fragrance It just mean, I do it my way, bitch Some days I'm in my Yeezys, some days I'm in my Vans If I knew y'all made plans, I wouldn't have popped the Xans I know some fans thought I wouldn't rap like this again But the writer's block is over; emcees, cancel your plans A thirty-eight-year-old eight-year-old with rich nigga problems Tell my wife that I hate the Rolls so I don't never drive it It took six months to get the Maybach all matted out And my assistant crashed it soon as they backed it out Goddamn! Got a bald fade, I might slam Pink fur, got Nori dressin' like Cam Thank God for me (Los Angeles) Whole family gettin' money, thank God for E I love rockin' jewelry, a whole neckful Bitches say he funny and disrespectful I feel like Pablo when I'm workin' on my shoes I feel like Pablo when I see me on the news I feel like Pablo when I'm workin' on my house Tell 'em party's in here, we don't need to go out We need the turbo thots, high speed, turbo thots Drop-dro-dro-dro-drop, like Robocop She brace herself and hold my stomach, good dick'll do that She keep pushin' me back, good dick'll do that She push me back when the dick go too deep This good dick'll put your ass to sleep Get money (Money, money, money) Big, big money (Money, money, money) And as far as real friends, tell all my cousins I love 'em Even the one that stole the laptop, you dirty motherfucker [Bridge: Larry Graham] I just keep on lovin' you, baby And there's no one else I know can take your pla—, pla—, pla— [Chorus: Kanye West, Junie Morrison & Ghostface Killah] Please, no more parties in L.A. (Shake that body, party that body) Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh (Shake that body, party that body) No more parties in L.A. (Los Angeles) Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh No more parties in L.A. Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh [Outro: Junie Morrison] Let me tell you, I'm out here from a very far away place All for a chance to be a star Nowhere seems to be too far Swish [Produced by Madlib and Kanye West]