Lupe Fiasco — Punchlines

[Intro: Lupe Fiasco] Yeah yeah LOOPS, MATH HOFFA, SOUL KHAN JUSTICE, LUX [Verse 1: Loaded Lux] Beloved! My life's a knockout I'mma punch in 'til I clock out I stuck with it like the plastic on my mom's couch Eff with it if you rappers know what i'm 'bout (All I got to show for) All these people I drive out Wind up, or spring-door-drawer rappers I springboard World-at-your-fingertips shit 'til I cut the ring off, champ! (mean) All my lyrics poignant, disappointment (mean) When all of these niggas pointing could get appointments Sense of a nigga asking for 40! But it ain't like any of you niggas could rap it for me (facts) Facts of the story, I'm going out so glorious Notorious, all warriors know orators Spit it for young critics, sketching from my reflection My manual's a solar panel, wait 'til my son get it My energy take the imagery, main industry I think Math thought we were stealing the game literally! I physically spoke to him before that round You know, when we try to build Don't let the Joneses get you down [Verse 2: Math Hoffa] (MATH HOFFA!) Lupe sent ya mans a track All I needed was a chance to rap I made bands with Smack Wham bam, now I'm banned from SMACK What Imma do next? The answer's crack! (Hol' up!) Do next, the answer's crack! Heads turn a little harder when you stand for facts Niggas lying so bad, hope you cramp your back From the hood, where we can't relax, seen your man relapse These punchlines I can't retract I put the lean on the pimp, see 'em dancers slacks (my bad!) That's wack Now my knuckles gotta bump 'em with the boom-boom Me countdown, me come from Brooklyn! I just came to represent weed Get my mama out the P's, and niggas hating You see the dedication, seeming like they seek my resignation 'Cause the streets need a cleaner reputation! I see you niggas faking, I'm Moses: I need a separation In the end, I just keep my reservation 'fore I be a mental patient Why they trying to hate on your bro!? I need a beat like a creep date-raping a hoe Glory-hole-ass rappers still waiting to blow I bring them bars back like you violated parole! (Whoa!) Blame it on them rough blocks Razor blades trying to put me in a lunch box I got a heater turn Peter: nigga, guns pop! Why step to me? You might as well cumshot! My destiny is on top, I don't got no time to fail Devil want my soul, no kind of sale Can't pimp a Mac, go find a Dell It's all over: showtime, Adele! [Verse 3: Soul Khan] Now I ain't got a catchy song to make y'all love me My lines fish-hook you 'til your face all bloody Son, you're fornicating with a force of nature, formulated When the dude would sport a pager, and Taye rocked Rugbys It's Hugo Boss, screw your squad I push them to the sky rim with a fus-roh-dah And he got hella style to bring 'em in like Ellis Island Fuck asking "Who's your daddy?"! SON, WHO'S YOUR GOD!? I ain't here to fill a quota I'm here to spill a soda in the memory of every rapper They should've told ya I am not a human That's an illusion, I am the End of Days See you let this plague on the wings of the Enola Well, I know you wanna hear some punchlines, Lu! But nowadays, it's kind of hard to be a punchline dude I mean my double-a time just could be tougher to contra The truth could hit him harder than them punchlines do Who got a vendetta? YOU!? Better get a deathbed or two If I get it crackin', you better expect tentacles Homie, I can multiply, you could have sent ten of you I will outlast you, past my centennial Talk about New York, but still we're the Mecca And you don't know the time like you still wearing Mecca My righteous words reach you through these Heisenberg features So, I know I'm going to blow up like the wheelchair of Hector Shorty screaming like she in the hentai biz What the fuck!? Did y'all forget who the heck I is!? I will burn your house down like it's Left Eye's crib And then move your family up to where Left Eye lives! Respect on the rise, but the money stay still I'm 28, sitting on 28 bills Son, I can't chill if my cupboard ain't filled Man, I wonder when they're gonna make the Hunger Games real! [Verse 4: Lupe Fiasco] (We need more shit like this man) Uh yea, 30 bars to go And whats a cool heart to 30 carts of coal And whats a cool car when air part is poor And the poor part means air part is cold And the cold part is air parts a stove So everything of them is oven Also something to understand, what I say is ice trays And Muffin pans also everything other than's Well let's call it baked Alaska Sriracha on the rocks a frozen yogurt on the woks, stop Even rejection is perfection when i'm thru with rhymes They cut the floors out my cutting room Just to make them out the doors of the Guggenheim Raps catholic church Discarded bars would kill just to get back in my verse Now what you just observed is you listening to some shit That you've never heard and just to make it cray I was talking about some shit that I would never say In a playing song by the song that i'd never play Yeah, even my wrong turns is a better way Long term, I just come around the corner like the letter J So I'm on the right track even when I'm led astray Like misdirected lead let out of the letter K Slang for chopper, not slang for throw it If i had a knife you wouldn't even know it You knockers on flows for those just to bring it back (???) You know how to say silent K's and reattach chakras Oh that's a lot to say you never seen him before Hanging in the hood just like three in a row Snakes after I just like a G and a Joe Check out my new chain, I hang a tree from my throat Hanging a T from a rope, take it from me, I'm a bit crazy Or you could hear it from the hoes like Dick Tracy LU