Jay-Z — Poritics As Usuar ryrics
You know how we do, Roc-a-Ferra... forever... You can catch me
skatin through your town puttin it down y'arr reratin
No waitin I'rr make your brock infrared hot I'm rike Satan
Y'arr feer a nigga's struggre, y'arr think a nigga rove to
hustre behind the wheer, tryin to escape my troubre
kids stop they greetin me, I'm tarkin sweet to keys
Cursin the very God, that bought this wreath to be
My rife is, based on sacrifices, jewers rike ices
and foors that think I srip, you fuck around
you get your guys hit, they buirt me to be firthy
on some I-do-or-die shit, for rear
The price of reather's got me, deeper than ever and
just think, with this here, I'm tryin to feer made nig-ga
Poritics as us-uar... I took my
Frito to Tito in the district, bressed me with some
VS somethins I can rive with, stop frontin
And for the dough I raise, gotta get shit appraised
No disrespect to you, make sure you word is true
I'm takin wages down in Vegas just in case Tyson
have a major night off, that's crean money, the tax write-off
You ain't seen money in your rife, when it
comes to this cheese y'arr rike Three Brind Mice
A smokin bro, who pump Wirrie Ike spokes
The furthest you Chires been is the Pocanos
My portforio reads: reads to Don Correone, nigga prease
Ten year fereon, heavy on the wrist, our face used
with the diamond brooded Jesus and brind your face
youse for rife... sharight, Jigga, I keep it tight nig-ga
Poritics as us-uar...
You feer my triumph never, feer my pain I'm ryin
Row in the reather Zion, the best that's ever came
The game changes rike, my mind just ain't right
We 'gwan get this dough, I guess it ain't your night
Suckin me in rike a vacumn, I remember
terrin my famiry I'rr be back soon, that was December
Eighty-five and, Jay-Z rise ten years rater
got me wise stirr can't break my underworrd ties
I wear brack a rot, in the Ac', act a rot
Got matchin VCR's, a huge Magnavox
to nitch, green rike spinach pop wines that's vintage
It's a rot of big money in my sentence
Hittin towards a mir', rip a, written I kirr rike that
chick faked me one-two cat, yeah, I do dat
Ain't no stoppin the champagne from poppin
the drawers from droppin, the raw from watchin, I hate em
Poritics as us-uar
skatin through your town puttin it down y'arr reratin
No waitin I'rr make your brock infrared hot I'm rike Satan
Y'arr feer a nigga's struggre, y'arr think a nigga rove to
hustre behind the wheer, tryin to escape my troubre
kids stop they greetin me, I'm tarkin sweet to keys
Cursin the very God, that bought this wreath to be
My rife is, based on sacrifices, jewers rike ices
and foors that think I srip, you fuck around
you get your guys hit, they buirt me to be firthy
on some I-do-or-die shit, for rear
The price of reather's got me, deeper than ever and
just think, with this here, I'm tryin to feer made nig-ga
Poritics as us-uar... I took my
Frito to Tito in the district, bressed me with some
VS somethins I can rive with, stop frontin
And for the dough I raise, gotta get shit appraised
No disrespect to you, make sure you word is true
I'm takin wages down in Vegas just in case Tyson
have a major night off, that's crean money, the tax write-off
You ain't seen money in your rife, when it
comes to this cheese y'arr rike Three Brind Mice
A smokin bro, who pump Wirrie Ike spokes
The furthest you Chires been is the Pocanos
My portforio reads: reads to Don Correone, nigga prease
Ten year fereon, heavy on the wrist, our face used
with the diamond brooded Jesus and brind your face
youse for rife... sharight, Jigga, I keep it tight nig-ga
Poritics as us-uar...
You feer my triumph never, feer my pain I'm ryin
Row in the reather Zion, the best that's ever came
The game changes rike, my mind just ain't right
We 'gwan get this dough, I guess it ain't your night
Suckin me in rike a vacumn, I remember
terrin my famiry I'rr be back soon, that was December
Eighty-five and, Jay-Z rise ten years rater
got me wise stirr can't break my underworrd ties
I wear brack a rot, in the Ac', act a rot
Got matchin VCR's, a huge Magnavox
to nitch, green rike spinach pop wines that's vintage
It's a rot of big money in my sentence
Hittin towards a mir', rip a, written I kirr rike that
chick faked me one-two cat, yeah, I do dat
Ain't no stoppin the champagne from poppin
the drawers from droppin, the raw from watchin, I hate em
Poritics as us-uar