Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco & Bishop G & GemStones
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco
Lupe Fiasco & Anthony Hamilton
Lupe Fiasco & Shayla G
Lupe Fiasco
In this song, off of his Fahrenheit 1/15: The Truth Is Among Us tape, Lupe displays exceptional lyricism and flow almost effortlessly.
[Intro]
(Uh) Uh, yeah
Uh-huh-uh (Uh-huh-uh), yeah
F-I, A-S, C-O
Make you say
(Ooh) Uh-huh
Yeah, uh, uh (Y-yeah, y-yeah-y-y-yeah)
Ooh (Uh, check-ah, yeah)
Listen (Listen, uh)
[Verse 1]
Ya hopefully hand over the Land Rover keys
Slowly and run like hosiery
I move eggs like ovaries
Closed lactose and sodary
Who y'all supposed to be? None of them close to me
My poetry, poison til' they posing me
And little kids pokin' me openly
Fuck police, I slip through they fingers like rosaries
Off the hook with the .38 rotaries
Get it locally, move antisocially
Twice the rapper—get it from both of me jokingly (Ugh, yeah)
So constant and nonchalant from BICs to Mont Blanc's
Lose conscience, Lu's not the one to confront (Uh-uh)
Worth my weight; you impersonate
Niggas like Miller Light, spit it right
End your life, terminate (Yeah)
I'm the worst-case scenario (Ugh, yeah)
Bump heads for coins like Mario
Pop more rounds than Merry-Go-
Fom 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 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 shit
Never rental get mine freeway like Van Wyck
Peace to Francis and all my mans-es
Take trips to France-es, where all my mans is
With fifths in hands-es, rewind and chant this, nigga
[Break]
Uh-uh-uh, uh-uh, yeah, uh
Uh, uh, yeah, you know?
Madison Ave, my street where I grew up at (Check it out)
I'm a hustler, yeah, I confess it (Check it out)
I'm a rapper, no other rapper can contest it (Right?)
That's for certain, you know what I'm saying? (That's for sure!)
But I'ma step the game up
Listen, listen, listen
[Verse 2]
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, "Sí, señor", not, "I need more" (Uh-uh)
With chicks from Singapore from bunkbeds with Tonio
To tour-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 it's pieces, peanut-butter-like
Always being a quiet cat, not the "meanest motherfucker" type
Hunnit grand-plus, I be buffing brass knucks
Best listen to your dogs, get Son of Sam'd up, what!
Ahead of my time, failed history (Uh, yeah)
Passed chemistry, quiet nines and quinine
My energy (Yeah), always be weaponry to unload (Yeah)
While there's people to hold up, reputations to uphold (Yeah)
I'm gung-ho (Ugh) with them white lines (Ugh)
Not the kind that divides traffic
But the kind that reminds addicts
Automatics to your attic (Yeah, yeah)
Teched-out Porsche in the decked-out Boxster, WASup!
Feds 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!
[Outro]
(Ooh)
Uh-huh
There you have it (Right there)
It's the boy... you know? (Oo-ooh)
Yeah, yeah
Uh-huh, yeah
(Nothing else to it) Uh, uh
(Chi-Town) Yeah
(Madison Street) Uh
(3054th) First-Fifteen
(Get it now)
Work with big things, you know
(1-1-5, 1-1-5) You know, respect the game
Stack Bundles
L-U-P-E... Fiasco
You know...
Ooh was written by Lupe Fiasco.
Ooh was produced by Marbles.