I’m every rapper that made it big time, before he made it big time I’m illmatic, I aint got platinum plaques, I’m still plastic I haven’t even gone wood, but it’s all good I’m every broke rapper still living in the hood I am reasonable doubt (no doubt) I’m that nigga walkin’ out the crib, cops yelling freeze as I pull out I’m every rapper that’s battlin’ for respect Every nigga with a ten carat chain around his neck I’m every rapper that got a deal before he got a deal I’m every sellout who swore he kept it real I’m every cat with an iced out watch and bad credit Every kid who caught a big break and ran with it I’m ghetto successful, I’m Nas before Esco I’m Biggie wavin’ 44’s knockin’ on deaths door I’m Fat Joe before he copped a Rover Jay-Z before Hova Murder Mase before he crossed over And crossed back and said ‘fuck the pastor life’
I’m pumpin’ life after death in the afterlife I’m every producer that grabbed the mic And put the MP to the side, in an attempt to rhyme,; I’m Every cat on the grind With money on his mind, and mind on his money I’m every broke rap cat that’s still hungry I’m every broke rap cat that sells dope crack cuz he has to feed tummies I’m every cat in the kitchen, dishin’ I’m that dude at the wake, losing his religion I’m Pete Rock, C.L. Smooth reminiscing Of the days when we were children, chillen, just sittin;
On the pump (on the pump) I’m every Hustler, that doesn’t give a fuck I’m every Customer, that will give every buck, just to get a fix of stuff, I don’t sniff, I puff, barely once a month, but it’s enough I’m a School of Hard Knock Alum I make Boogie Down Productions like KRS-One, son I’m a womanizer, a chauvinistic pig, I’m a ghetto low-life, (nah) I’m a gifted kid I’m a prick, I’m a spick, I’m a dick, I’m an anus I’m Eminem before ‘my name is’ I’m Canibus before being famous, no production left him nameless I’m living lifestyles of the rich and shameless Driving Lex coupes, Beamers, Benz’s, Ranges I’m Puff Daddy before the name changes I’m the East, the West, Pac – B.I.G. battlin’ Ya’ll can stay on my dick homie, it’s flatterin’ I’m bochincheras chit chattering Out windows of blocks about the shit happening I’m on the corner; I’m posted on the lookout I’m in Van Cortlandt, I’m hoping for a cookout I’m the barbeque in the summer I’m the sled in the winter I’m the family bread winner I bring bread to the dinner God strike me dead, I’m a sinner I’m the devil in the flesh, I’m insomnia, I don’t let you get your rest I suggest you protect ya neck (uhhuh) I’m the dealer;
I inspect the deck (uhhuh) You cut the cards, place ya bet, I collect the debts I’m every mom living check to check, they get much respect! I’m So So Def, Mos Def My lyrics past phat, they grotesque Don’t test, if you aint ready for the exam Understand, I’m the man, Son of Sam, gun in hand, a hundred grand in my other hand You don’t fuckin’ want it man I’m Big Pun before the heart attack I’m from New York, the home of the hardest raps Specifically the Bronx, the heart of rap, where it started at And don’t get mad at me those are the facts Xela artifacts…Xela artifacts
