LA-LA-LA (Jay-Z) (Amended Version)
Jay-Z
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Memph Bleek be lovin' dat la la la
Beanie Sigel always lovin' dat la la la
Neptunes tracks smoke like la la la
It's the Roc, baby, sing our lullaby
C'mon
Excuse me miss, I'm the shit
You should come hang with me, basically
Hold up, skip all the singin', let's get right tonight, mami
I know my English ain't as fine as you'd like
But come, get some, you little bums
I take the cake from under the baker's thumb
I bake the cake, get two of them from one
Then I move the weight like I'm Oprah's son
Uhh, I'll show you how to do this, son
Young don't mess with chicks in Burberry patterns
Fake Manolo boots straight from Steve Madden
He patterns hisself to rap JFK
You want a pass with my jack, little asses
Then hop, yeah, out that S-Class
Lay back in that Maybach, roll the best hash
I ask, have you in your long-legged life
Ever seen a watch surrounded by this much pink ice?
Look but don't touch, young scrubba, think twice
'Cause the gat that I clutch got a little red light
Need a light to light that la la la
Beanie Sigel always lovin' dat la la la
Memph Bleek always lovin' dat la la la
It's the Roc, mami, sing our lullaby
C'mon
Excuse me miss, I'm the shit
You should come hang with me, basically
Hold up, skip all the singin', let's get right tonight, mami
We got buckets full of army mamis in Manolo
Bags by Chanel or Louis Vuitton logos
All attracted to Hov because they know dough
When they see him, whips be European
If you're a ten, chances you're with him
If you're a five, you know you ridin' with them
Sick with the pen that with no physician
In the world could fix him, no prescription
You could prescribe to subside his affliction
He's not a sane man, he's more like Rain 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, see me for
This ain't Chris Rock, trick, it's the Roc, trick
And I'm the franchise like a Houston Rocket, ya'meen?
Still lovin' dat la la la
Memph Bleek always lovin' dat la la la
Beanie Sigel, Desert Eagle, the four, the five
It's the Roc, baby, sing our lullaby
C'mon
Excuse me miss, I'm the shit
You should come hang with me, basically
Hold up, hold up, skip all the singin', let's get right tonight, mami
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 with Marbury
I'll just blast, run up on me at the light
You could lose your life
Muhfuckers must be smokin' that la la la
Forty-five gun smoke, choke off that
Let's get back to the music, I ain't with all that
Plus the Feds tappin' my music, y'all get all that?
I'm the public industry number one
Public industry number two is my whole crew (ROC)
I don't serve it who like me or who like you
That's lame, nigga, I ain't into likin' dudes no way
But get a pen, I can tell you pricks my plans for the future
I'll never make the news again, my man'll shoot ya
As we be lovin' dat la la la
Memphis Bleek always lovin' dat la la la
Beanie Sigel, Desert Eagle, the four, the five
It's the Roc, mami, sing our lullaby
C'mon
Excuse me miss, I'm the shit
You should come hang with me, basically
Whoa, skip all the singin', let's get right tonight, mami