Spose - Just an Emcee II lyrics

Live from where the sun comes up Yes yes y'all Freak freak y'all Turn it up y'all Wells, Maine Spizzy Spose y'all Small world y'all Prep Dank y'all turn it down [Verse 1: Spose] I'm like the broke Young Hova No Range Rover But still hot when serving people - Anna Kournikova No fancy restaurant twenty-dollar entrees It is Wendy's, it is Friendly's, it is empty, it is gay No Tyrone Biggums crack rocks where my pot at A movie director, man, I don't get shot at Unburly rhyme-satirist in Hurley and Atticus Never up early counting cash on my abacus Weed leaf rustler, window-shopper customer In other words you could say I'm "not a not a hustler" I rapped for six years but still anonymous No bling, dollar-less and a bad economist Life's Lauryn Hill, it's k**ing me softly I got no cream you could call me black coffee My finances more f**ed than a used condom Stocks fall like autumn, greetings from rock bottom [Verse 2: Spose] But they're ain't no fake pimping Thugging thugging gangster gangster gayness I'm Beyonce-less and not on the A-list I know some bailiffs and I'm not proud of it But I used to love weed, and well, I still love it! Freak ex-geek no powder puff pipsqueek No rough speak with scuffed sneaks, yeah it's me Just an emcee in a dirty white tee Got trees from Mike V that be unsightly Sometimes life's a drag Sometimes it's a bong rip I'ma live now put my money where my songs is I'm still gnarly clam baking that Bob Marley Till it's not even funny anymore - Chris Farley I'm AIDs ill and malaria sick With no hilarious schtick or gimmick to get your trick I'm hoping being honest gets into these arenas And my tracks flood the streets like Hurricane Katrina [Verse 3: Spose] I'm not here to be the hardest or act all retarded I'm just an emcee man, a rapper, an artist I don't bling or blang or sling, but my slang Got you and your mang going ape like orangoutangs Not a wack, weak wigger, wannabe thug No kilos of d** are hidden in my Lugz But make no istake still I puff cake I'm bony but not phony Baked but not fake It's all gravy, baby, I'm still porking ladies But I don't do drive-bys in next year's Mercedes These are my thoughts, I don't exaggerate my life If you carry the mic there's a stereotype But I was born and bred for this babbling business Rap words like you getting scrabble for Christmas No Cristal bottle or models with swelled racks I don't tote gats or sell crack, I just rap