Nothin

Put you in my teacup, you going to spin around
The ugly stick's out at Coyote bar, so you gone sit on down
Any minute now those sit-ups bound to get you up off the ground
And up onto your feet, right back to the lost and found
Who you claim? Who claims you? And why they ain't in a suit
Why you ain't say the truth? How you know I ain't came with proof
It's alright man I'm through, wait I'm not through, I'm just thru with you
Ain't got nothing to do with you, so mind your moves man I'm moving true
You in front of your children? Well fuck what you feeling
I'll be up in the building, so come get the villain
Cause buddy I'm chilling, I'm not really chilling
That's silly - I won't stop 'till I got a trillion
It's millions of moves that I'm making, I'm shaking and baking
Oh wait fuck the bacon... just not Mr. Bacon
I'm taking some plates and you letting me break all your patience
I'm shattering notions of what I was
While I'm buttering up all these butter-buns
In their buttoned up shirts and cummerbunds
I got ninety-nine problems, score a hundred runs
You ain't tagging me out at the plate
We done had that debate, I whipped you into shape
But this one is because you the son of the son
Of a Sam, I'm a rip off your cape

I don't know nothing about ya
But I'm bout to get some bucks out ya
Go tell your squad, they gone doubt ya
Every last word
I'd like to know how I caught ya
You heard me running my mouth-a
Wasn't saying nothing about ya
Next time be sure

I'm fresh outta gas, oh wait I'm driving a lemon
And I smell lemonade so I push the ride to Seven-Eleven
Like, 'Oh Thank Heaven,' no, they said it
Oh then thank the fact that they also sell
Excedrin in a pack of seven
I bet you thought that I'd come on and actually say something
Something different from the fact that a catastrophe is coming
I've come to rip you from your shackles of of your shacks
Counterattack, of the snap, crackle, pop-crackle, snap
Clap on back
Go have a private Snapple chat where everything's fine after that
You called shotgun? Here take it, now ride in the back
Chick-chick bang, fuck where you came from and whatever you saying
Just play dumb and look at no one, ride this basic train
I'm shattering notions of what I was
While I'm buttering up all these butter-buns
In their buttoned up shirts and cummerbunds
I got ninety-nine problems, score a hundred runs
You ain't tagging me out at the plate
We done had that debate, I whipped you into shape
But this one is because you the son of the son
Of a Sam, I'm a rip off your cape

I don't know nothing about ya
But I'm bout to get some bucks out ya
Go tell your squad, they gone doubt ya
Every last word
I'd like to know how I caught ya
You heard me running my mouth-a
Wasn't saying nothing about ya
Next time be sure