We should do something like that, yeah. Drake, Protege, Shady, Apprentice. Drop them zeros and get with these hills. You want losers or winners, this music is in us. And it's not over till we say it's finished. Since the unit's finished, it keeps spinning. This is hip-hop when it's finished. To exform the greatest haters or lovers. Make moody doors of us and keep sticking them pins in us. Thick as the skin is, or as short as it's weakest. The trick is to be able to walk big as his dick is. And as sick as his music is, or was, still is. Whatever, forever, he will be the illest, to ever. Should shock the world what to do next. He's already reconciled with his tears. Chainsaw on an axe, choke a bitch to death. Strangle her neck while we have sex. While Bill Clinton plays the sax, I sprays the facts. Yeah, bring Shady on back, the maniac of rap. Devil baby on crack, resurrect, I never left. Baby, I'm bad, I've gone mad. My comrade, Tracy, automatically says I'm too pro. The flick's wavy on that, I may be off drugs. But it's made me off track. In fact, this right here very well could be the last rap. If I ever do spit, I'll never do shit. That's that. Fuck it, I quit. Suck on a dick, jackass. I'm done with this wack-ass rap. Kiss my black ass. 50 Cent! Now I am telling him to kiss my black ass. To clean parts, the shitty parts. My bullet wounds, my beauty marks. The fifth potato, ass apart. I came in this game, crushing motherfuckers from the start. Shady pay me, Shady crazy. 50 crazy, rich bitch. Zip a day, nothing changed. It's the same shit trick. Teflon wrapped on, in case I get clapped on. D-Search and the whip. Glad I left the Mac home. Still grinding, still shining, nigga, Lord knows. Rocking with the kid that's spits, sick of sick flows. I carried game style for nine months and gave birth to it. Now I'm feeling like a proud father watching him do it. A-Day, Trey Day. Front of course in May, late. Turn the town upside down with a frown upside down. I smile, do something foul. And watch my money pound. I fuck where the sticks back. I'm kicking you straight back. I hit you with it back and pop, and bring me minds right back. Hey, that's what we talk now. I hit your ass up. Hey, that's what we talk now. Boom, boom, cha, boom, boom, cha Boom, boom, cha, boom, boom, cha It's the radio