The World Is Yours - Live at Webster Hall, NYC - Dec. 17, 2002

(It's yours) yeah, yeah, c'mon
Whose world is this?
The world is yours, the world is yours
It's mine, it's mine, it's mine, whose world is this?
(It's yours) c'mon y'all, turn these mics up
It's mine, it's mine, it's mine whose world is this?
The world is yours, the world is yours
The world is mine, it's mine, it's mine

I sip the Dom P, watchin' Gandhi 'til I'm charged
Writin' in my book of rhymes, all the words past the margin
To hold the mic I'm throbbin', mechanical movement
Understandable smooth shit that murderers move with

The thief's theme, play me at night, they won't act right
The fiend of hip-hop has got me stuck like a crack pipe
The mind activation, react like I'm facin'
Time like Pappy Mason, with pens I'm embracin'

Wipe the sweat off my dome, spit the phlegm on the streets
Air on my feet make my cipher complete
Whether cruisin' in a Sikh's cab or Montero Jeep
I can't call it, the beats make me fallin' asleep

I keep fallin', but never fallin' six feet deep
I'm out for presidents to represent me (say what?)
I'm out for presidents to represent me (say what?)
Dead fuckin' presidents (let's go back, y'all)