Lyrics
Bobby Creekwater, today’s host
Today’s narrator, yeah
(We do this shit every year around this time)
Today’s what-the-fuck-ever you wanna call it
But I need y’all to sit back, and listen
Listen, man (fuck what you write man, just go get 'em)
An executive mindframe, fuck tryin' to rap
Niggas represent a corner, I refined the map
Artesian water, this is flow untapped
And rep for 'em like Mike on playoff night; that’s if the payoff right
The Dream Team, Bobby Creek, Em, 50 and them
We run the city like Diddy and them
The opposition we just pityin' them, it’s no chance
Put you niggas in the Special Olympics, it’s no dance
I’m nice like a meal twice, nigga, no grands
Get them bitches out they pants—I did it with no hands
See, one thing’s for sure, I’m pure uncut
Pimpin', you can either stay down or get gunned up
Mr. Night Life, I can give you niggas sun up
I just get an order, let my niggas pick the gun up
That’s one up on ya, nigga, wake yo' punk ass up
This is ammonia, fuck your face up
Bitches won’t even telephone ya
I can space age pimpin, a pocket full of stone ya
Ya dig? Take the world over, that’s the gig
Sell enough units, have Paul and Jimmy dancin' the jig
Roll the Maserati through the city, me and Riggs
Bumpin' Obie Trice, shoot a bird at the pigs
Ever since a nigga got rich
Life is still a bitch but she a high-class bitch
I just wanna fuck with me a high-class bitch
Nigga, pitch that on some eyeglass shit
See I classic, enough to get the mics back right
And I’m a fan of record sales, I don’t like that hype
I’m here to end it
Oh Lord, that nigga mean, ain’t he? Yeah
Goddamn, that nigga clean, ain’t he? Yeah
See, he a greedy baby
But some people tend to call him the return of Shady
There he is — goddamn that nigga clean, ain’t he? Yeah
Yea, oh Lord, that nigga mean, ain’t he? Yeah
See, he a greedy baby
But some people tend to call him the return of Shady
Bobby Creek, Bobby Creek…
Yeah, yeah
Nice like Mike right, you niggas soft as night lights
Diamond’s a tall order I’m just tryin' to get the hype right
I’m throwed off, so hard, so soft, sold out
Bought the Coupe a color of nice weather and rolled out
I can’t hold out, hot like a fish fry
Who the fuck is this guy? The ruler on the disc I
Hit you in your soup coolers, I’m in the Coupe cooler
Than pigskin men, base runners, and hoop shooters
A loose screw, band money like The Legendary Roots Crew
This is just the shit that I am used to
Oh nah, I don’t bust a chopper but I used to
Now I put the word out — I’m sure you niggas heard about
Young boss, old money, old school new paint
Ball knowin' you can’t, give a fuck what you think
Member of the mighty Shady Records, nigga, you ain’t
Think you fuckin' with me then double whatever you drink
You can’t fathom what the bitches throwin' at him
Couple niggas hatin' on him but the fans waitin' on him
Like a, PlayStation 3, money for your advance
My vacation fee, ain’t no use in hatin' me, nigga
And don’t shit-talk pimp, I’d rather flush
Anyone with big enough nuts to come and fuck with us
I bust but keep in mind, pressure bust pipes
And you niggas wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight
What the fuck? (yeah)
Oh Lord, that nigga mean, ain’t he? Yeah
Goddamn, that nigga clean, ain’t he? Yeah
See, he a greedy baby
But some people tend to call him the return of Shady
There he is — goddamn, that nigga clean, ain’t he? Yeah
Yea, oh Lord, that nigga mean, ain’t he? Yeah
See, he a greedy baby
But some people tend to call him the return of Shady
Bobby Creek, Bobby Creek…