Syllables

Album: Single Release Only (2011)
  • It is not about lyrics anymore
    It's about a hot beat and a catchy hook

    If we gotta dumb down our style and ABC it, then so be it
    'Cause nowadays these kids, jeez
    Don't give a shit bout lyrics
    All they wanna hear is a beat and that's it
    Long as they can go to the club and get blitzed
    Pick up some chicks and get some digits
    And the DJ's playing them hits
    Oh this my jam, this my shit
    We don't know a word to a verse
    All we know is the chorus
    'Cause the chorus repeats the same four words for us
    And the songs ginormous, the whole formula's switched
    'Cause we don't know anymore, what are hits
    Is it the beat, is it the rap
    Is it a finger snap or the same 808 clap
    And how do we adapt and get TRL votes
    When 13 year olds control the remote
    And Ashley's got a brand new nose
    We gotta put some new emphasis on our syllables

    If the emphasis on the compact disc isn't the beat
    Than I'm gon' feature Em and get rich
    And let Dre mix the shit and drive off in the Range Rove
    'Cause everywhere I go they love the bling bling flow
    Bang bang look at the way my chain glow
    The ring on my fing' cost ya man lot of dough, oh
    The fuck am I busting my brain for?
    It's just the way the game go, oh, it takes two to tango
    You call this a lame flow you bought the shit
    I guess you to blame too I just found the angle
    No more reality flow I'm tryna time my album dropping with a reality show
    Cock the Mac 11 in front of Hot 97
    And call my publicist tell her "we in press heaven"
    No one gives a shit except some kids who just got into sex on the internet
    So you want the chat room or the house of Malibu Em?
    Your emphasis is on the wrong Syllable

    They said 30's the new 20
    Funny, must mean 40's the new 30
    Interesting 'cause ever since then it's been in a sense
    An extension for veteran rappers that are better than half
    Of the shit coming out right now
    It's all trash
    The torch is gonna burn out before it gets passed
    Jay said it's his last and 50 and Em
    Then what? Detox drops what we got then
    So now our whole camps is running around scrambling over what to do
    Gambling every time we put a record out
    Just looking for that hook

    (Wait Dre look)
    Shorty I love you
    And you love me too
    We were meant to be 'cause shorty
    You love me
    And I love you too
    And I promise I'll be true to you

    Go shorty, it's your birthday
    You made it just in time to hear my wordplay
    It's the kid that flip flows who used to flip O's
    And run G for days used to see how I get hoes
    I'm international, I get my dick licked round the globe
    I'm sick right into show, riding on lolo's
    Puffing on coco, my bitch in Manolo's
    Don't fuck with the dodo's, I sling for dumb hoes
    I playing, I ain't got time to joke, joke
    You fuck around, you could get your ass smoked
    Look, its not a game, me B, I ain't playing
    Beep behind me player, so you here anyway
    You don't hear what I'm saying
    Me fin-nini-na
    Fee-fi-dididee-yay
    Just give me my check and I'll be on my way
    Sunny bunny money and funny
    You ain't even listening and I just took your money

    There once was a time everywhere you turned (where you turned)
    Shady-Aftermath was all you heard
    But they say 50 sang too much, and Em got soft (got soft)
    And they say Dre just fell the fuck off
    Well, fuck the fuck-offs! All y'all eat salt
    Be mad, we back, fresh up outta the vault
    Oh! New syl-la-la-bles, eat ball, you fuck-offs
    Your house, your bitch, I'm getting sucked off
    East, South, Midwest, even up North
    Falling victim to wax, spitting, bring out the white chalk
    All for the gingerbread, we get it and get lost
    Catch me if you can, I'm runnin' past while y'all walk

    Shady made me for bringin' it back
    'Fore the history of rap is gone with a snap
    A snare and a clap, what happened to just spittin'
    'Bout livin' in the motherfuckin' city you at?
    In the grimiest condition, I breathe in drama
    King Mathers and Cash me, that's free karma
    I'm everything, anything you can never be
    It's a hidden rhyme of the month deep in the beef
    I speak with a piece, no peace on my mind
    I repeat every evil deed done of mine (yeah)
    No rest contest, contract to sign
    By blood, I'm in this squad for life
    Hear about out my windpipes, and I just chime
    I'm the reason you guys won't say that line
    I'm crazy, renegade like Em and Jay-Z
    I'm Rosemary's baby, I want you to hate me

    Shorty, I love you
    And you love me too
    We were meant to be
    'Cause, shorty, you love me
    And I love you too
    And I promise I'll be true to you

    It is not about lyrics anymore
    It is not about lyrics anymore
    It's about a hot beat, a hot beat
    It's about a hot beat, a hot beat
    A hot-hot-hot beat and a catchy hook
    A hot-hot-hot beat and a catchy hook
    Nobody gives a damn about them syllables
    Syl-la-la-bles, whatever they are
    I don't care if you gotta rhyme "schmoe," "mo," "Joe," "toe," and "glow"
    Now, get out there and sell some goddamn records!
    Now, get out there and sell some goddamn records!
    Now, get out there and sell some goddamn records!
    Now, get out there and sell some goddamn records!
    Now, get out there and sell some goddamn records!
    Now, get out there and sell some goddamn records!
    Now, get out there and sell some goddamn records!
    Now, get out there and sell some Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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