I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mothafuckaz, I ain't trynna hear nothin'
They call me Nicholas, style defined as ridiculous
I beg your pardon, meet me at the garden
#1 draft, I'm New York's pick & I don't lose like them dudes on the New York Knicks (check it)
I'm over seas rockin' hella capris, in the West Indies eatin' delicasies... I tell 'em
They want Cain like Erica... please
Brotha your money young like the nigga Jeezy
These broke rappers always rappin' bout a pink truck, I'm only happy wen I hoppin' out the Brinx truck
And I don't need a 16, I got a sentence... I goes on a fucka like an entrance
These old bitches better change they dentures, when I get in the game they gon' play the benches
Fuck your friendship, pay attention
Bitch get at me, imma pay my henchmen
A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mothafuckaz, I ain't trynna hear nothin'
They call me Maraj, Fuck you & fuck your squad
Head bitch in charge, I ain't talkin' bout the tod
I'm on the other line & I ain't talkin' bout call waitin'
I'm VIP lil' mama I just walk straight in
Lil Dolce & Gobana got this whore hatin', that's why I pop up in the Porsche with the top vacant
Mami, stop fakin', talkin' bout what you got, you ain't got natin', and you're not cakin'
You're not my taste, get out of my face, I play the top like eight friends on your MySpace
Stay in a child's place, check the timin'
I rock bitches like they throwin' up they diamonds (It's the rock!)
You on a flight, I be bakin' on islands
Mami, your accent sound faker then Dylan
Murder them, murder them, fuck a competition, already murder them
A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mothafuckaz, I ain't trynna hear nothin'
They call me Nicki M., hard to find me in a sticky bin
I play the club, with a thug and some pretty friends
And if they ain't got the gat, they got the knife on
You're too whack to get up on one of my songs
You gotta deal, cause you was givin' up the coochie prolly, but I'll arrange one hit like Oochie Wally
And you'll be gone to November like Wyclef, I hold weight and I ain't talkin' bout biceps
I rep Queens like the crown, when I'm in the town, ask Yung Joe it's goin' down
Kisses to my bitches and my niggas, get a pound
June, turn me up, mic check, how I sound?
Bitches don't know the half, like they flunked at math, give a fuck about a bitch and the clique she with
Unless you doin' them numbers like arithmetic, Young Nic, holla back, and turn up my shit
A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
I was taught to only reach
When I lift the shirt that's the end of discussion
Click Clack mothafuckaz, I ain't trynna hear nothin'
