Lupe Fiasco - Ooh lyrics

[VERSE 1] Ya hopefully hand over the Land Rover keys Slowly 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 f** 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 and nonchalant from BIC's to Mont Blanc's Lose conscience, Lu's not the one to confront Worth my weight you impersonate n***as 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(-rounds), from birth date to burial In South Beach beeches 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 sun with Hawaiian Tropic What's in your pockets my profits Foxes pick me up like chop sticks, this hotness They wanna put me in 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 sh** Never rental get mine freeway like Van wyck Peace to Francis and all my manz(iz) Take trips to France(iz) where all my manz is With fifths in handz(iz) rewind and chant this, n***as! [VERSE 2] I got a bezel from embezzlin' 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 ? To tour room Colonials and still testimonial And 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 bu*ta like Always being a quiet cat not the meanest motherf**er type For a hundred grand plus, I'd be buffin' bra** Knucks Best listen to your dawgs, get Son of Sam'd up, what! Ahead of my time, failed history pa**ed chemistry, quiet nines in 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 divides traffic But the kind that reminds addicts, automatics to yo attic Tecked out Porsche' in the decked out Boxter WASup! Fed's is nice with the camera's, challengers get beat black and lavender Women put my name across they chest like janitors Fans of the, hustler under the stairs his fiends on the banisters WHAT!!!