Marc Live - Bamboozled lyrics

Yeah, the diesel truckers, with, Kool Keith Marc Live, Jacky Jasper We come international, and rational [Kool Keith] I saw the Grammy's, I wasn't impressed with that A lot of stylists overdressed that Was I wrong? Who was the best at Two cases on Stoli's, eight thousand for this man you owe me I left the V.I.P. section lonely Me, white folks, Don Juan played the back The women chose me over guess who? Pretty Toney Kid I got your lady signed to Sony Girls tell Bobby I'm the real tenderoni New York's best verse carrier You better scoop her, before I marry her Award winnder without rims Tap your dimepiece without spinners JVC, LL soapbox with the antennas I get hard on aspirin cups filled with Guinness The Ernie Ona**is, with masters, with Marc and Jack Jasper Sunday clean gators on the pastor Go 'head player, youse a wallflower Scared to talk to her, I'ma ask her Rep it at the casino, walk in your presence Miami's biggest problem Whack rappers want me out the game like Al Pacino [Chorus 2X: Jacky Jasper] We pop bottles, washed up models (bamboozled) Runny makeup, celebrities, uncensored Paparazzi, Sunset Boulevard Forty-second street, Las Vegas, South Beach [Jacky Jasper] I seen a lot of rappers turn soft, I turn my TV off (uh) And thugs got commercials (yea) thugs in commercials (uh) And everybody's chick turned gladiator and sh** No pimps, no hustlers, yo where's your whips No Maybachs, no Lambos on the field Towncar, ridin Music Express And yo' the winner is - effervesence (that's right) Your rhymes didn't win, your rhymes didn't get sh** (oh!) They like the way you move in tight suits (that's right) And gay-a** 70 boots You the best example, yo the industry is whack yo Now you can bet your label and your Phantom on that See rappers don't want no parts of men They zombies, +28 Days+ all over again Everybody's scared, runnin again They bonecrush ya, monkeys in the cage again [Chorus] [Marc Live] Celebrity n***a, broke a MC pimp n***a Show up on the scene (n***a) Trackin cream, so obscene You can't come clean, fast money I fiend I know the score, your mother-in-law My money is more, she's leavin him poor I know the game, ask Rick James I don't complain and I won't explain Go fetch, I draw the sketch You won't catch, I got the niche (b**h) The chips won't switch, she's not a b**h I'll take the chips, she's on my dick They flowin in, steppin on up the money out Hiccup, b**h shut the f** up (what) What is wrong, income's right The street's my wife, the street's my life, uh [Chorus]