JAY-Z


U Don't Know (Remix) Lyrics

You gotta let this one breathe, just
Just let it breathe for a sec
Yup, Hovi's home
Newest edition to the ROC
M.O.P.
The Blueprint 2 is on its way
I know ya hear my footsteps out there, comin'
Let's go get 'em just

Time to duck, fire
Duck, fire, duck, fire
Duck, fire, duck, fire
It's the M.O.P. and the dip code is 1, 1, 2, 3, 3

And motherfucker we comin, 100 miles and gunnin
I'm still runnin' with cash that's robbed
From the era of exhale 80's and hats back stomp
Same game, operation for this industry lockdown
We still tote hammers that go blockow
Run up if you wanna, believe me dog
These hammers with they owners, fuck ya G up
Have ya with blue 'jamas in a coma, and

Ya family now moan, look, 70 pounds gone
A little fuck, scribbled up with a hospital down on
We holdin' it down homes keep pushin' weak frail bastards
To get over, we prowl with slimmer re-shelled tactics
Jiminy frail bastards, your tracks need tune-ups
No limit, what the fuck, recordin' for nig' junior
The game aint changed, it just got harder
Plus we sponsored by laz' Dame Dash and Mr. S. Carter
Brownsville, we stomp in this bitch all day
Rock with my cock out, face the crowd and piss off stage

I'm from the G side of thangs
Where we ride and bang, where the heat died of flame
That's how we got the name Warriors and better than ya bank
And someone should be tellin 'em the veterans have came
And we're better in the game, you better make it rain, 27 grams
My, man it's better than cocaine, now everything will change
In this family we'll rule the world
And you haters can eat a dick up till you hiccup

And I'm a decade on the grind, nigga I paid mine
So it's my time to shine and for you can ride the pine
I wont sit back and rap like these dumb ass kids
I been around, I put it down, I ain't these young ass kids
M.O.P. the OG's repped and survived around this motherfucka
First family, we kept it live around this motherucka
When it's crunch time, we do it our wizzay
For shizzle my nigga, learn to grip pistols and BK

Turn my music high, high, high, higher
Mo' fire, mo' problems, more Roc-a-wear attire
Mo' money, mo' murder now that M.O.P.'s hired
Mo' murder for the ROC empire, ya'll won't surface
Ya'll nervous knowin them guns on full service, ready to fire
One body, two body, three body, four
Young sittin' on paper, I'm above the law
Young shittin' on haters, I ain't fuckin' with ya'll
For my Brownsville neighbors
How about some hardcore?

And it just get worser, every time I write my signature in cursive
Just add another million to theses
One million, two million, three million, four
And the money's really worthless, I'm pissing you off on purpose
My nephew's situated, and my mama's straight
So I'm ready for whatever drama should come our way
And you niggas rappin' to me, so your drama is fake
You dudes is noodles, I got more ziti to bake

You dudes is cake, I keep twocuits on the waist
Razorblades under the tongue, I will eat ya face
Appetite for destruction, I am starvin' today
Got a money hungry lawyer that'll eat the case
And thats just food for thought, don't let it go to waste
Nigga, bite the bullet until you stuffin' ya face
I done forgot more than you ever learned
What you don't know will make your home a permanent urn, nigga

Do you believe in me?
Oh no
You don't know what you're doing, doing
Do you believe in me?
Oh no
You don't know what you're doing, doing
Do you believe in me?

Songwriter(s): Bobby Byrd, Shawn Carter
Copyright: Carter Boys Music, Golo Publishing Company, WB Music Corp.
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