You know how we do, Roc-a-Fella... forever... You can catch me
skatin through your town puttin it down y'all relatin
No waitin I'll make your block infrared hot I'm like Satan
Y'all feel a [bad word] s [bad word]  y'all think a [bad word] love to
hustle behind the wheel, tryin to escape my trouble
kids stop they greetin me, I'm talkin sweet to keys
Cursin the very God, that bought this wreath to be
My life is, based on sacrifices, jewels like ices
and fools that think I slip, you [bad word] around
you get your guys hit, they built me to be filthy
on some I-do-or-die [bad word]  for real
The price of leather's got me, deeper than ever and
just think, with this here, I'm tryin to feel made nig-ga

Politics as us-ual... I took my
Frito to Tito in the district, blessed me with some
VS somethins I can live with, stop frontin
And for the dough I raise, gotta get [bad word] appraised
No disrespect to you, make sure you word is [bad word] I'm takin wages down in Vegas just in case Tyson
have a major night off, that's clean money, the tax write-off
You ain't seen money in your life, when [bad word] to this cheese y'all like Three Blind Mice
smokin bro, who pump Willie Ike spokes
The furthest you Chiles been is the Pocanos
My portfolio reads: leads to Don Corleone, [bad word] please
Ten year feleon, heavy on the wrist, our face used
with the diamond blooded Jesus and blind your face
youse for life... sharight, Jigga, I keep it tight nig-ga

Politics as us-ual...
You feel my triumph never, feel my pain I'm lyin
Low in the leather Zion, the best that's ever came
The game changes like, my mind just ain't right
We 'gwan get this dough, I guess it ain't your night
Suckin me in like a vacumn, I remember
tellin my family I'll be back soon, that was December
Eighty-five and, Jay-Z rise ten years later
got me wise still can't break my underworld ties
I wear black a lot, in the Ac', act a lot
Got matchin VCR's, a huge Magnavox
to nitch, green like spinach pop wines that's vintage
It's a lot of big money in my sentence
Hittin towards a mil', lip a, written I kill like that
chick faked me one-two cat, yeah, I do dat
Ain't no stoppin the champagne from poppin
the drawers from droppin, the law from watchin, I hate em

Politics as us-ual