[Chorus]   Memphis Bleek always smoking that lalala....   Beanie Sigel always smoking that lalala....   Neptunes track smoke like lalala...    It's the ROC baby, SING OUR LULLABY   Come on!         Excuse me miss, I'm the shit (do you want me to do it?)   You should come, hang wit me, basically (do you want me to do it?)   Hold up, skip all the singin' lets go ride tonight, mami      [Verse 1]   I know my English ain't as modest as you like   But come, get some, you little bums   I take the cake from under the baker's thumbs   I bake the cake get two of them for one   Then I move the weight like I'm Oprah's son   Uhhh, I show you how to do this son   Young don't mess wit chicks in Burberry patterns   Fake Manolo boots straight from Steve Madden    He padded hisself the rap JFK, you wanna pass for my Jaqueline Onassis   Then hop ya ass out that S-class   Lay back in that maebach, roll the best grass, I ask...   Have you in your long-legged life   ever seen a watch surrounded by this much pink ice?    Look but don't touch, muthafucker think twice   Cause the gat that I clutch got a little red light   Need a light?...      [Chorus]      [Verse 2]   We got brothers full of Arme, mamis in Manolo   Bags by Chanel, Louis Vuitton logos   All attracted to Hov' because they know dough   When they see him, which be European   If you're a te-en (ten) chances your wit him   If you're a five you know you ridin' wit th-em   Sick wit the pen nigga, no position in the world could fix him   No prescription, you could prescribe to subside his affliction   He's not a sane man, more like reign man twitchin'   You can't rain dance on his picnic   No Haitian voodoo, no headless chickens can dead his sickness   No Ouija board, you can't see me dog, nigga you CB4   This ain't Chris Rock bitch, it's the ROC bitch   And I'm the franchise like a Houston Rocket   Nawimean (Yao Ming)...      [Chorus]      [Verse 3]   Forget English talk body language   I be all over mamis like body painters   Pink diamond necklace, strawberry wrist   Please excuse yourself, you're very sick   Don't confuse me wit marbury out this bitch   Run up on me at the light, you could lose your life   Muh'fuckas must be smoking they lalala la crack   .45 gun smoke, choke off that   Back to the music, I ain't wit all that   Plus the feds tappin my music I get all that   I'm THE public industry number one   Public industry number two is my whole crew R-O-C   And I ain't concerned wit' who like me, who like you   That's gay, I ain't into likin' dudes no way   But get a pen, I can tell you pricks my plans for the future   I never make the news again my man'll shoot ya      [Chorus]