"Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?"
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"Is this not why you are here?"
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[Jay-Z]
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Uh uh-huh..
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Uh uh-huh UHH
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{*crowd noise gets louder*}
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Turn the music up, turn me down
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Guru.. let's go get 'em again
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This time it's for the money my nigga
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Brooklyn, stand up
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[Verse One]
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There's never been a nigga this good for this long
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This hood, or this pop, this hot, or this strong
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With so many different flows there's one for this song
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The next one I switch up, this one will get bit up
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These fucks, too lazy to make up shit, they crazy
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They don't, paint pictures, they just, trace me
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You know what? Soon they forget where they plucked
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they whole style from, they try to reverse the outcome
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I'm like - TOUGH!
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I'm not a biter I'm a writer for myself and others
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I say a B.I.G. verse, I'm only biggin up my brother
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Biggin up my borough, I'm big enough to do it
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I'm that thorough, plus I know my own flow is foolish
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So them rings and things you sing about, bring 'em out
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It's hard to yell when the bar-rell's in your mouth
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I'm in - new sneakers, dual-seaters
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Few divas, what more can I tell you?
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Let me spell it for you
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Double-U I, double-L, I-E
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Nobody truer than, H-O-V
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And I'm back for more, New York's ambassador
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Prime Minister, back to finish my business up
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[Chorus]
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What more can I sayyyyyyyyyyy?
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What more can I doooooooooooo?
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I gave this up to youuuuuuuuu
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I know this much is truuuuuue, truuuuuuue
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[Jay-Z]
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What more can I say to you?
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You heard it all
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[Verse Two]
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You already know what I'm about, flyin birds down South
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Movin wet off the step, "Purple Rain" in a drought
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Stuntin on hoes; brushin off my shirt
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But ain't nuttin on my clothes 'cept my chain, my name
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Young H-O pitch the yay faithful
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Even if they patrol I make payroll
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Benz paid fo', friends they roll
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Private jets down to Church and Caycos
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Crist' caseloads, I don't give a shit
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Nigga one life to live, I can't let a day go
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by without me bein fly or fresh to death
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Head to toe 'til the day I rest
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And I don't wear jerseys, I'm thirty plus
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Give me a crisp pair of jeans, nigga button up
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S. Dots on my feet make my cipher complete
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What more can I say? Guru play the beat!
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We gon' let this ride into the hook
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- I'ma snap my fingers on this one
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What more can I say to you?
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- Get my grown man on
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LET'S GO!
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(What more can I sayyyyyyyyyyy?)
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[Verse Three]
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Now you know yo' ass is Willie when they got you in the mag
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for like half a billy, and yo' ass ain't lily
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white that mean that shit you write must be illy
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Either that or your flow is silly - it's both
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I don't mean to boast, but damn if I don't brag
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Them crackers gon' act like I ain't on they ass
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The Martha Stewart, that's far from Jewish
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Far from a Harvard student, just had the balls to do it
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And no I'm not through with it
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In fact, I'm just previewin it
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This ain't the show, I'm just EQ'n it
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One-two and I won't stop abusin it
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To groupie girls, stop false accusin it
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Back to the music - the Maybach roof is translucent
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Niggaz got a problem Houston! Heh
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What up B, they can't shut up me
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Shut down I, not even P.E., I'ma ride
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God forgive me for my brash delivery
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But I remember vividly what these streets did to me
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So picture me lettin these clowns nitpick at me
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Paint me like a pickany
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I will literally kiss T.T. in the forehead
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Tell her please forgive me then squeeze until you full 'head
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I'm not the one to score points off, in fact
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I got a joint that'll knock yo' points off
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Young, Hova the God, nigga blasphemy
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I'm at the Trump International, ask for me
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I ain't never scared, I'm everywhere you ain't never there
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And nigga, why would I ever care?
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Pound for pound I'm the best to ever come around here
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Excludin nobody, look what I embody
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The soul of a hustler, I really ran the street
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A CEO's mind, that marketin plan was me
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And no I ain't get shot up a whole bunch of times
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Or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
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And I ain't anim ated like say I +Busta Rhymes+
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But the real shit you get when you bust down my lines
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Add that t |