Thom Bell - What More Can I Say lyrics

[Produced by The Buchanans] [Intro - Russell Crowe] "Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?" "Is this not why you are here?" [Jay-Z] Turn the music up, turn me down Guru, let's go get 'em again This time it's for the money my n***a Brooklyn, stand up [Verse 1] There's never been a n***a this good for this long This hood or this pop, this hot or this strong With so many different flows, this one's for this song The next one I switch up, this one will get bit up These f**s too lazy to make up sh**: they crazy They don't paint pictures, they just trace me You know what? Soon they forget where they plucked Their whole style from - then try to reverse the outcome I'm like: "TAA!" I'm not a biter, I'm a writer for myself and others I say a B.I.G. verse, I'm only Bigging up my brother Bigging up my borough--I'm big enough to do it I'm that thorough, plus I know my own flow is foolish So them rings and things you sing about, bring em out It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth I'm in new sneakers, dual-seaters Few divas, what more can I tell you? Let me spell it for you: W I, double-L, I-E nobody truer than H-O-V And I'm back for more, New York's amba**ador Prime Minister, back to finish my business up [Hook] What more can I say? What more can I do? I gave this up to you I know this much is true [Verse 2] You already know what I'm about: flying birds down South Moving wet off the step, purple rain in a drought Stunting on hoes; brushing off my shirt But ain't nothing on my clothes except my chain, my name Young H-O pitch the yay faithful Even if they patrol, I make payroll Benz paid for, friends they roll Private jets down to Turks and Caicos Cris' caseloads, I don't give a sh** n***a, one life to live, I can't let a day go By without me being fly, fresh to d**h Head to toe 'til the day I rest And I don't wear jerseys, I'm 30-plus Give me a crisp pair of jeans, n***a, bu*ton-ups S. Dots on my feet make my cipher complete What more can I say? Guru, play the beat! [Hook] [Verse 3] Now you know your a** is Willie when they got you in the mag For like half a billy and your a** ain't lily-White That mean that sh** you write must be illy Either that or your flow is silly. It's both! I don't mean to boast, but damn, if I don't brag Them crackers gon' act like I ain't on they a** The Martha Stewart that's far from Jewish Far from a Harvard student, just had the balls to do it And no I'm not through with it In fact, I'm just previewing it This ain't the show, I'm just EQ'ng it One-two and I won't stop abusing it To groupie girls: stop false accusing it Back to the music - the Maybach roof is translucent n***as got a problem Houston! What up B, they can't shut up me Shut down I, not even P.E., I'mma ride God forgive me for my brash delivery But I remember vividly what these streets did to me So picture me letting these clowns nitpick at me Paint me like a pickany I will literally kiss Ti-Ti in the forehead Tell her, "Please forgive me," then squeeze into your forehead I'm not the one to score points off, in fact I got a joint that'll knock your points off Young Hova the God, n***a. Blast for me I'm at the Trump International: ask for me I ain't never scared I'm everywhere, you ain't never there And n***a, why would I ever care? Pound-for-pound, I'm the best to ever come around here Excluding nobody, look what I embody: The soul of a hustler, I really ran the street A CEO's mind, that marketing plan was me And no I ain't get shot up a whole bunch of times Or make up sh** in a whole bunch of lines And I ain't animated like, say, Busta Rhymes But the real sh** you get when you bust down my lines Add that to the fact I went plat' a bunch of times Times that by my influence on pop culture I'm supposed to be number one on everybody list We'll see what happens when I no longer exist f** this