What More Can I Say

[Intro:]
"Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?"
"Is this not why you are here?"
Turn the music up, turn me down
Guru, let's go get 'em again
This time it's for the money my nigga
Brooklyn, stand up.

[Verse 1:]
There's never been a nigga this good for this long
This hood or this pop, this hot or this strong
With so many different flows, this one's for this song
The next one I switch up, this one will get bit up
These fucks too lazy to make up shit: they crazy
They don't paint pictures, they just trace me
You know what? Soon they forget where they plucked
Their whole style from - then try to reverse the outcome
I'm like: "TAA!"
I'm not a biter, I'm a writer for myself and others
I say a B.I.G. verse, I'm only Bigging up my brother
Bigging up my borough--I'm big enough to do it
I'm that thorough, plus I know my own flow is foolish
So them rings and things you sing about, bring em out
It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth
I'm in new sneakers, dual-seaters
Few divas, what more can I tell you?
Let me spell it for you:
W I, double-L, I-E nobody truer than H-O-V
And I'm back for more, New York's ambassador
Prime Minister, back to finish my business up.

[Hook:]
What more can I say?
What more can I do?
I gave this up to you
I know this much is true.

[Verse 2:]
You already know what I'm about: flying birds down South
Moving wet off the step, purple rain in a drought
Stunting on hoes; brushing off my shirt
But ain't nothing on my clothes except my chain, my name
Young H-O pitch the yay faithful
Even if they patrol, I make payroll
Benz paid for, friends they roll
Private jets down to Turks and Caicos
Cris' caseloads, I don't give a shit
Nigga, one life to live, I can't let a day go
By without me being fly, fresh to death
Head to toe 'til the day I rest
And I don't wear jerseys, I'm 30-plus
Give me a crisp pair of jeans, nigga, button-ups
S. Dots on my feet make my cipher complete
What more can I say? Guru, play the beat!

[Hook]

[Verse 3:]
Now you know your ass is Willie when they got you in the mag
For like half a billy and your ass ain't lily-White
That mean that shit you write must be illy
Either that or your flow is silly. It's both!
I don't mean to boast, but damn, if I don't brag
Them crackers gon' act like I ain't on they ass
The Martha Stewart that's far from Jewish
Far from a Harvard student, just had the balls to do it
And no I'm not through with it
In fact, I'm just previewing it
This ain't the show, I'm just EQ'ng it
One-two and I won't stop abusing it
To groupie girls: stop false accusing it
Back to the music - the Maybach roof is translucent
Niggas got a problem Houston!
What up B, they can't shut up me
Shut down I, not even P.E., I'mma ride
God forgive me for my brash delivery
But I remember vividly what these streets did to me
So picture me letting these clowns nitpick at me
Paint me like a pickany
I will literally kiss Ti-Ti in the forehead
Tell her, "Please forgive me," then squeeze into your forehead
I'm not the one to score points off, in fact
I got a joint that'll knock your points off
Young Hova the God, nigga. Blast for me
I'm at the Trump International: ask for me I ain't never scared
I'm everywhere, you ain't never there
And nigga, why would I ever care?
Pound-for-pound, I'm the best to ever come around here
Excluding nobody, look what I embody:
The soul of a hustler, I really ran the street
A CEO's mind, that marketing plan was me
And no I ain't get shot up a whole bunch of times
Or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
And I ain't animated like, say, Busta Rhymes
But the real shit you get when you bust down my lines
Add that to the fact I went plat' a bunch of times
Times that by my influence on pop culture
I'm supposed to be number one on everybody list
We'll see what happens when I no longer exist
Fuck this.