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n.o.r.e. - the change (freestyle cypher) lyrics

[verse one: 50 cent]
son i’m realer in the street than i am on wax
so if you see me in new york, see me making my stacks
and if you see me on the island, you see me taking a jack
and i think i’m all that
how y’all n-ggas feel ’bout that?
be careful, this rap sh-t will get to ya’ head
have you screamin’ “f-ck the police”
when you scared of the feds
here’s a jewel: love your enemies and hate your friends
your enemies remain the same
your friends always change
i travel, state to state
stash box filled with weight
jaguar xk8
money machine count papes’
kites with five words
k!ll them now don’t wait
for 21 years i’ve been sober
sling dope from crack
i dabbled with rap
then i f-cking relapse
hydro and hash i’m twistin’ it
cash, i’m getting it
cristal, i’m sippin’ it
hot sh-t, i’m spittin’ it

[verse two: consequence]
before you press off, better know what team you running with
it’s tumbling, go hard for a yard
and never fumbling
and if she gotta donkey
then why roll republican?
don’t gargle my name
i’m ain’t the toothpaste you brush with
hands on the chips
like a super bowl sunday

come model on a runway
spit the hard
——- in my lane
if you feel, you feel me
and charter to the game

all of my things, ugh
all of my days
keep them, faces changing
back to back ranges
and wife be pushing the cam like a
if you making statements
n-gga you making payments
if so, hand me that flow

my whole hood show up to the aramen
so if you saw something
you better
usher raymond
cause, if i go ten for two, that’s it for you
you hear more screams out of your crib
then scream two

[verse three: punchline]
check it
i learned the m-ssive
playas a’ gettin’ drafted
for those that opposed, i gave those a closed casket
my thoughts are graphic
no matter who you dissing
i die for my n-ggas like jesus’ crucifixion
you contradicting
you fell under the submission
my sh-t sound great on bad tapes with the hissin’
the plot thickens
and in any altercation
i take out two like double dating
your whole squad playa hatin’
i repeat: play for keeps
i got weed smokers turning over a new leaf
i pop sh-t and roll one deep
with no heat to show ya’
i drop hot sh-t
rock mics with pot holders
rap career’s over
how dare you oppose this
when i die, bury with a tape and my own sh-t
———————-
diss me and pay the price
make a klepto want to take his own life
style precise
the rap game i’m pimpin it, kickin it
yo, take it in vain like insulin!

[verse four: 50 cent]
people giving me flashbacks
when i was young, i was laughed at
this is the fact i had to stash crack, in my -ss crack
yo some cats get shot, some cats get smacked
that’s cause some cats get cream and they don’t know how to f-ckin act
phone check, dude get the f-ck off the jack
got a stash box for the mac in the baby blue ac
tryin’ to find out where you rest at so i could, run up in that
blast the gat, run off with the stack
i’m on it like that
i’m livin’ like that
i’m eating like that
takes cheese and that’s the way it is man
and it’s like that

[verse five: punchline]
check it
i keep dough in my pocket
while you follow the false prophet
get deep like islamics, wrapped in a white garment
i touch topics that try to open up your optics
vacate in the tropics, you dodgin’ bullets in the projects
cut the nonsense, i’m hotter than a lot a men
start honorin’, i got more wifeys than solomon
f-ck the squad you in
ay yo, we be the biddomb
regardless what i spit on
you worship the tracks that i sh-t on
once you get on, it’s fam you can’t trust
word to punch, make rappers march like the third month
i, build with friends
lyrically spit gems
call me diamond
cause i’m your girl’s best friend
mcs is born losers
alcoholic abusers
i go on the radio and start a g-y rumor
then i’ll talk about how the crowd tried to boo ya’
label screwed ya’
stressed out with brain tumors
my gat claps
50 percent of wack
take it back to real rap
krylons wit’ the fat cap
get robbed for your ascap
leave you inside
fortified lives
reppin’ ny ’til i die

[verse six: n.o.r.e]
let me thug it out, like i’m ‘spose to
straight vocal, y’all b-tches
you know we gotta keep it coastal
it’s like the trackmasters
how we tone and poke you
but i got patience for chocha, callate la boca
tell them n-ggas to call me popa
tell them that i’m loca
get culo, being a boss like hugo
smoke chronic
stereo, panasonic
striptease, b-tches wanna strip with ease
yo boo, just take it off and hinder your ease
n-o-r-e, type that just can’t get pleased
i got two b-tches suckin’ my toes
other two on my meat
yo, and still a n-gga won’t get weak
i like to keep it all s-x like dawson’s creek
thug it right out
right on a las beat
n-o-r-e, you know i take the streets
any compet-tors
show you how to break you off
n-o-r-e, so f-ck y’all compet-tors
either you a live b-tch, or a regular wh0r-
yo, i knew this b-tch
she used to rhyme and sh-t
i use to lie to her
tell her i’d buy her sh-t
yo, a crib, the new diamonds, plus a whip
yo, came to the crib
put it on
and yo, and on the real, woulda put her on
but even when i wrote it
yo the b-tch couldn’t quote it
sounded real foul like she demoted
one thing she could do though, is deep throat it
so i kept it real, b-tch still ain’t got a record deal
mention my name, keep it simple and plain
she was off, the meter when she seen wood grain
told the b-tch maintain, and i’mma do the same
or we can hit the telly up, you can give me some brain

[verse seven: consequence]
on any given weekend
i juggle more girlfriends than kingpin
you experience loneliness for four seasons
chauffeur, and a cell for east lincoln
call her peek-a-boo, cause she going for the golden streaken
european regions
paparazzi, watch me
next thing i know, i’m on screen getting a c-cky
while six chicks getting a hard copy
papi, you want to pop me?
well, i can’t tell, cause when it’s critical
y’all turn into men on films

that costed a lot, like odb at the grammy’s

sh-t, if shorty swing my way
better leave your man, — broken-hearted

gun in the glove department
made a deal with me
food stamps the new 50’s
newer group of chickies
named jiffy because they spread with the bread

wake up with your chest saying, “dial 911”
because you missing two kidneys

- n o r e lyrics

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