Ooh

[Intro: Lupe Fiasco]
F-I-A-S-C-O make ya say ooooh...

[Verse #1: Lupe Fiasco]
Ya hopefully hand over the Land Rover keys slow-ely and run like hosiery
I move eggs like ovaries, closed lactose and sudairy
Who y'all suppose to be?
None of them close to me, my poetry poison til' they posing me and little kids poking me, openly,
Fuck police I slip through they fingers like rosaries off the hook with the .38 rotaries
Get it locally, move anti-socially,
Twice the rapper - get it from both of me, jokingly,
So constant & nonchalant from BIC's to Mont Blanc's,
Who's conscience is not the one to confront
Worth my weight you impersonate niggas like Miller Light spit it right in your life,
Terminate, I'm the worst case scenario,
Bump heads for coins like Mario
Pop more rounds than Merry-Go's
From birth date to burial
In South Beach, bitches going south with they mouth piece without speech
Oh now he's official from the start, they miss you, holding vigils in the dark
Go head try and stop it, couldn't block son/sun with Hawaiian Tropic
What's in your pockets? My profits
Foxes pick me up like chop sticks, this hotness, they wanna put me boxes like chocolates...that's nonsense
Nothin' sweet about this but the hotel room, Presidential like the wrist
I know, I'm sorry I never meant to end shit
Never rental get mine freeway like Van Wyck
Peace to Francis and all my mans-s, take trips to France-s where all my mans is
With fifths in hands-s rewind and chant this, nigga!

[Chorus: Lupe Fiasco]
Yeah, you know, Madison Ave., my street where I grew up check it out, I'm a hustla, Yeah, I confess it out, I'm a rapper...No other rapper can contest it, that's for certain, that's fo' sure (You know what I'm saying?) I'm gonna step the game up..

[Verse #2: Lupe Fiasco]
I got a bezel from embezzling, Good Heavens!
And they said I lost it in 97'
About to start using Mexicans not cause they better than just cause I get "Si Senor", not "I need more"
With chicks from Singapore from bunk beds with Tonio's
The twelve room colonials it's still testimonial
So I keep it secret, in the kitchen in the cabinet in a jar where the grease is
L-U-P speaks it til' its pieces, peanut butter like
Always being a quiet cat not the meanest motherfucker type
If you find a gram+ I'd be buffin' brass Knucks
Best listen to your dawgs or get Son of Sam'd up, what!
Ahead of my time, failed history passed chemistry, quiet nines and quinine
My energy always be weaponry to unload, while there's people to holdup, reputations to uphold
I'm Gung Ho with them white lines, not the kind that divide traffic
But the kind that remind addicts, automatics to yo attic
Tec'd out Porsches and the decked out Boxers
The Fed's is nice with the cameras, challengers get beat black and lavender
Women put my name across the chest like janitors
Fans of the, hustler under the stairs his fiends on the banisters WHAT!