Black (Black) Jack
Johnson ain't scared of you motherfuckers

(It's the jump off) get it off now, come on
(It's the jump off) Push it up now, ha
(It's the jump off) What you want now?
(It's the jump off) Keep cool, now
(Put your hands up, it's the jump off)
Yeah! It's that Freak Daddy shit!
(Raise your hands up, it's the jump off)
(Raise your hands up, it's the jump off)
(Raise your hands)

With so much drama in the N-Y-C
It's kinda hard bein' M-O-S Def-initely
But I, some how, some way
Keep comin' up with funky ass shit with the Black Jack Jay
May, I, spit a lyric for my ghetto people?
Show me 'nough respect when I breeze, through
Riders beep they horn
'Cause I keep the party jumpin' like yo' mamma ain't home
I'm just a freak individual singin' my song
Shinin' bright on the mic like it's six in the morn' (six in the morn')
So peep out my manuscript
Reach up, sleeves up, for a second now bounce
This is the one that make the party wile' out
Nigga, I said wile' out
Nigga, I said wile' out
Lemme show you what we're talkin' about (come on!)

Huh, ha, yes, hah, uh, hah, rock wit' me now
Uh, ha, yes, ah, uh, rock wit' me now
(You are now rockin' with the best!)
Uh, hah, yes, ha, uh, come check me now (Black! Jack!)
Uh, hah, uh, yes, hah, uh, uh, back to the beat, like

(It's the jump off) get it off now, come on
(It's the jump off) Push it up now, ha
(It's the jump off) get it off now
(It's the jump off) make it jump now
(Put your hands up, it's the jump off)
(Raise your hands up, it's the jump off)
(Raise your hands up, it's the jump off)
(Raise your hands up, it's the jump off)
(Raise your hands)

Tables full of hi-hat, a dash of drums
Sprinkle in a some keyboard, a pint of rum
With just a pinch of purple haze and a gallon of bass
Mix snares with rock 'n' roll and throw it all in ya face
Pre-heat the studio to about a hundred degrees
Ludacris, Mos Def and your best emcees
You'll get burnt just for thinkin' you can step to me
And that's the end of my little ghetto recipe
My destinies is to rip 'em, hit 'em up with the rhythm
Trick 'em, click 'em, then ha ha hah stick 'em
Jump the fuck (back), no gun can pump (that)
I punch the engineer and slap the whole (track)
Then pop all the speakers and strip the wires
Blow smoke from the MPs and amplifiers
I'm here to spit truth for the liar liars
I'm the hottest emcee, y'all a fired fired

Huh, yes, uh, ah, yes, uh, yes, hah, come on
(You are now rockin' wit' the best)
Woo! Brooklyn, New York City
Hah, take 'em there, Doc
Hah, uh, yeah, Black, Jack, come on
So incredible! Fantastic! (oh!)
Freak Daddy shit fire!

Come on (woo!) nigga, rock to it
Uh (uh), hah (hah), yeah (yeah)
(Clap your hands now, people, clap your hands)
Ridin' high (high)
Ridin' low (low)
(Clap your hands now, people, clap your hands)
Ridin' clean (clean)
Ridin' dirty (dirty)
No-body high as we are, Black Jack Johnson
(Clap your hands now, people, clap your hands)
Told you my hot was incredible, y'all
(Clap your hands now, people, clap your hands)
Woo! (woo!)
(Clap your hands now, people, clap your hands) uh
Tell 'em again
Hey, I don't think y'all heard me

(Clap your hands now, people, clap your hands) Get on your good foot
Black, Jack, Johnson ain't scared of you motherfuckers!

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Calvin Broadus, Dante Smith, Douglas Arthur Wimbish, Gary Miller, Harry Casey, Mark Richardson