John Hill - 37th Chamber lyrics

[Verse One]: My gal said I need to work on my look (ya ugly) I said, "f** it", filled the notebook to get 'em to look I said, "You need to learn to cook" then she gave me a look Then I tried to get some p**y and my a** got shook Oh well man f** it, back to the rhyme Rockin' in the co*kpit, I'm on the pa**enger side Yeah I nasty, can you pa** me the pine? Cause they say I'm not sh**, ain't got sh** and I'm pa** my prime Man f** it, it ain't hard to tell Every bar hard as hell, I'm God himself sh**, here I go again with the arrogance Pops pa**ed away, case of Miller for inheritance Microphone terrorist Backpack packed with anthrax, blank tracks and Jack, I carry it Bra** knuckles, bra** belt, buckle to match it Steel toed boots, I think I need a kick in the a** Look, you say you paid like Coco and nice as hell You must be takin' Hits From The Bong, Cypress Hill Gon' kick back, sit back, Vicodin pill Outline the chalk what I talk, license to k** Yeah, from the twist tops to Oxy Cots It's possible we popped in anything that you possibly got Man this dude in rehab said to talk about feelings He kept noddin' off from hop, what's the point of revealin'? Yeah, heads say the joint is appealing Raps my forte, Rappin 4-Tay, Don't Fight The Feelin' Yeah, born in No Co, get a fifth of So Co Plead the fifth, middle finger lift to the po po So if you Robbie, Bobby, Ricky or Mike Then cool it now and don't pick up the mic Right? (right) I don't rap lines I rap flat lines Murder in the first with the verse, yeah it's that time [Interlude]: What are your thoughts when facing an opponent? There is no opponent And why is that? [Verse Two]: f** it Pa** the mic patna, let me rock it Beats knockin', nothin' short of nothin' in my pocket I keep rockin' Yeah, down and dirty to 30 will be the word king Better rappin' than flippin' patty's at back at Burger King Nothin' but flames gotta make the profession Only b**hes on my voicemail, they work at collections Yeah, they like to talk about your pops so badly "f** him", no f** you, that's my daddy Yeah, my sound well rounded Like what's in the palm of Lebron I put the pen in my palm from then on Yeah, I've been on some levels I'mma take it back to the raps, just the treble I'm bustin' like heavy metal My treble is trouble, the pen is a problem I get it buzzin', like it was, if it was lookin' for Valium Yeah, I be's that since the womb So put me in illustrious apparel like a pharaoh when I'm in the tomb Tomb, I've been cuckoo, co*k ring Get to the point like a pyramid, you are not Jay O.H. and H in the pen Rhyme nice like dime b**hes sittin' at a table of ten Make heat and keep pressin' I can speak silk screens Stop the presses man, it's 3 Sixteen Yeah, stop the presses man, it's 3 Sixteen