| Yeah, a lot of people smoking blunts
|
| Sitting lost, with no inspiration
|
| They never had it
|
| Even when they thought they had it
|
| Deep in their heart
|
| Their wack inside, the interior
|
| I rip them down
|
| Power and force make a nigga mad, man
|
| I, I’m up top, your man come and get the grab bag
|
| I’m Kanye, I move the west west
|
| Girls show me your chest, people show me the best
|
| You’re just a P-popper, double nigga hopper, what’s up
|
| You may want to flow off south of the border
|
| Lyrical warmup, the king see the wings that span
|
| Like a bird, I fly like a hawk
|
| Come down and pick up New York
|
| Take it in the sky
|
| Bye bye bye-bye-bye bye-bye-bye
|
| Wrap you like a baby up
|
| Man, you in a blanket, rank it
|
| Nigga think he nice making records, stank bitch
|
| Like Run DMC, I’m the king
|
| Break them down to a puny leg
|
| Got his girl going stinky, right
|
| Get in the ring, I’m winky, fuck off
|
| American disaster
|
| European disaster
|
| American disaster
|
| European disaster
|
| Disaster
|
| American
|
| European disaster
|
| Who can rock, who can rock
|
| Who can rock, who can rock
|
| Who can rock, who can rock
|
| Who can rock, who can rock
|
| Jigga, I set the tables up
|
| You’ve got to get on this, this ain’t vocoder |