Joe Quinde - It's Alright lyrics

[Hook: Jay Z] Bounce if you wanna bounce, ball if you wanna ball Play if you wanna play, floss if you wanna floss It's Alright, you heard?, It's Alright, Holla back You can ill if you wanna ill, smoke if you wanna smoke k** if you wanna k**, loc if you wanna loc It's Alright, you heard? It's Alright, yeah yeah [Verse 1: Jay Z] I need a ho in my life to blow on my dice So we can make our points twice and skate out of town I need that glow in my ice, E-Cla** Ladies screamin Jigga you know we needs that, flowin out like Jees-a** They ain't seeing me holdin' the mic So when you like you find MC's so impolite And me I'm so into nice, got cats on the corner like Don't me and Jigga be flowin alike? Nah, Not in your life ain't nobody poppin' like Mr. Jay-Z, sh** you're crazy I'm hot like the six maybe, deep dish with the great seats I flow greater than your navigator I drop in your town, block your data Pimps all comin' through with a hot pair of gators And a crew with rocks the size of craters Can't be touched like hot potatoes, Ya Heard? [Hook] [Verse 2: Memphis Bleek] In the middle of a war rockin a vest Who's the illest shorty alive, I confess I take lah to the chest and I swear to the heaven sky's, I bless The mics until the day I rest, till they can feel what I feel I'mma try my best, and if you real like I real You can provide the rest Everything left out, you can blame it on the brain, not the heart I'm playing my part, stretched out, just about the best out Any n***a realer than me, is in a messhall with their chest out Any rapper with less clout, sell more records than me We extort them as soon as they record 'em, Bleek I made this clear, back when shorty used to braid my hair On the project stairs, Once I crop to a ceaser Ma I don't need ya From the block to the hot two-seaters [Hook] [Verse 3: Jay Z] On the j**-els I blew more money than Latrell, who else? They don't know you, think they know you too well, you jel Like Flubber I hover above the city in a private jet, the livest set Press you're brakes, feds wanna investigate Mr. I don't cop nothing less than eight And anything involved with my name, regardless of the fame It's hard, I can't even walk through Harlem again Charge it to the game, I'm platinum like American Express My boy died, and all I did was inherit his stress To make every jam tougher, you ain't my man f** ya I should just let you live, right? Negative, I swear It's dough or die, I hope your soul provides you with an afterlife Close your casket tight, take your last two deep breaths And pa** the mic, to Jay-Z n***a, that's right! [Hook]