JAY-Z — 1999 Westwood Freestyle

[Intro] Uh huh, uh huh Roc-a-fella y'all Turn my headphones up Hip-hop y'all Turn my headphones up Be high y'all Turn the headphones up [Verse 1] Jigga man huh Big freak y'all Jigga man huh You know what I do I remove your roof homie let the sun shine in Thirty eight waist enough to keep one nine in Really a thirty six without the gun I'm thin But when the gat is tucked I'm fat as fuck Ignorant bats I'm taking y'all back to day one No kids but trust me I know how to raise a gun Niggas that think I spend my days in the sun Well here's the shock of your life the Glock not the mic How you gonna talk about MCs on my heel I just copped that thing homie, the chrome wheels Both arms is chunky, the sleeves on chill Any given time's a hundred g's in your grill Don't talk to me about MC's got skills He's alright, but he's not real Jay Z's that deal, I be's in the field Love affair for war, hug, squeeze that steel You gotta flow that's cool with me You gotta little dough that's cool with me You gotta little car little jewelry But none of y'all rappers can fool with me You know the wrist's frostbit minus two degrees About as blue as the sea the way I maneuver the beat Can't see his eyes who could it be? With that new blue Yankee on, who but me? Yeah I blew, few million than I blew to three Then I skated to four, 'fore I went on tour Came back and it's plain Rappers ain't rapping the same Their flow they jacking my slang I seen the same shit happen to Kane Three cuts in your eyebrows trying to wild out The game is mine I'll never foul out Y'all just better hope I gracefully bow out [Instrumental Change] [Verse 2] You know I'm heavy on your mind You know it's annoying the fact This wristband over my forearm, the Jordan of rap Twenty three of MCs, what y'all recording is crap And I would name names but they ain't as important to that Yeah, yeah, Jigga man huh Yeah yeah, I come through getting money, sitting on twenties Homies throwing me shade ain't shit sunny Hot shell all that them niggas can get from me Cocktails thrown in your living room, boom I'm so confrontational They should have never let me out on probation yo I'm a hustler, accept that No correctional facilities can correct that I took a step back I viewed myself See where my head was at It's where that dough is homie I gotta get that Gotta get away some tried to head back Three smart niggas got left back Some died but left stacks Me I balled right, and on top of that I'm dog nice Jigga been cold as fuck before ice Not before Christ, but a long time homie [Instrumental Change] [Verse 3] You know me, you know me Yeah, poppin' Chrissy Buck sixty through the gothic city I'm in the back, got my partners with me Who do you trust (sirens) got to get him Of my CDs, 'Pac, and Biggie 'Face and Juvie, looking at her face, she cutie Perfectly, this perfect booty She wanna hear Ma$e I pull up to the store in front of Sam Goody I hop out, I throw on my hoodie I don't hate, chick carried work for me from state to state It's the least I could do Order LL too [Interlude] Haha, keep that [Verse 4] I put the car in drive baby let's go Through the traffic lights, fuck traffic at night We here having the time of the life Little party bullshit me off guard? not hardly full clip This chicks the black barbie, my car be In the robbery, p-o-r-t I'm a heartbeat away from deep thinking It's just the clarise Close my eyes can you see me thinking? Can you see the chick panicking when she see how we drinking Mind full of intoxicants my thoughts shadow boxing Demons struggling, tryna figure life's meaning Have I truly arrived or am I somewhere in between? I mean I got my niggas, got my chick that pull triggers with me I got my (shh) outside of the city I'm just coming to terms with the night they killed Biggie And I sold 5 million records damn I'm pretty Now one has to wonder has he lost his hunger But niggas rest assured I'm even rawer than before