Lyrics
Turn my music high, high, high, higher
(You don't know what you're doing, doing, doing)
Sure I do

I'm from the streets where the hood could swallow 'em and
Bullets'll follow 'em and
There's so much coke that you could run the slalom
And cops comb the shit top to bottom
They say that we are prone to violence, but it's home sweet home
Where personalities clash and chrome meets chrome
The coke prices up and down like it's Wall Street, holmes
But this is worse than the Dow Jones, your brains are now blown
All over that brown Brougham, one slip, you are now gone
Welcome to Hell, where you are welcome to sell
But when them shells come, you better return 'em
All scars, we earn 'em
All cars, we learn 'em like the back of our hand
We watch for cops hopping out the back of vans
Wear a G on my chest, I don't need Dapper Dan
This ain't a sewn outfit, holmes, holmes is about it
Was clapping them flamers before I became famous
For playing me, y'all shall forever remain nameless (you don't know)

I am Hov (what you're doing, doing, doing)
Sure I do

I tell you the difference between me and them
They're trying to get their ones, I'm trying to get them Ms
One million, two million, three million, four
In just five years, forty million more
You are now looking at the forty million boy
I'm raping Def Jam 'til I'm the hundred million man

R-O-C (you don't know what you're doing, doing, doing)
That's where you're wrong

I came into this motherfucker hundred grand strong
Nine to be exact, from grinding G-packs
Put this shit in motion, ain't no rewinding me back
Could make forty off a brick, but one rhyme could beat that
And if somebody woulda told 'em that Hov would sell clothing
Not in this lifetime, wasn't in my right mind
That's another difference that's between me and them, ha
I smarten up, open the market up
One million, two million, three million, four
In eighteen months, eighty million more
Now add that number up with the one I said before
You are now looking at one smart black boy
Mama ain't raised no fool
Put me anywhere on God's green earth
I'll triple my worth, motherfucker

I will not lose (you don't know what you're doing, doing, doing)
Put something on it

I sell ice in the winter, I sell fire in Hell
I am a hustler, baby, I'll sell water to a well
I was born to get cake, move on and switch states
Cop the coupe with the roof gone and switch plates
Was born to dictate, never follow orders, dick face
Get your shit straight, fucker, this is Big Jay

I, hahaha (you don't know what you're doing, doing, doing)
Will not lose, ever
Fucker

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Broma 16, Peermusic Publishing, Royalty Network, Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Bobby Byrd, Shawn Carter




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