I Shot Ya (Freestyle) lyrics

[Intro]
Yeah, what the f*ck!
Jay-Z, Marcy, Brooklyn
Representin' the, what, what
Roc-A-Fella y'all, for life
Stretch Armstrong
Bring the noise, haha
Clown-ass n*ggas (Yeah)
You know how we get down

[Verse 1]
Uh, Roc-A-Fella's capo, unflappable
Test my weight in the Apple
Never a question of if, but when you gonna die like cattle
Beef, I go at it so rugged, you swear, I love it
Is that so, hard to learn?
My burner give n*ggas permanent heart murmurs
If that ain't reason for concern (woo!)
My, crew endangers
Estranged miscellaneous n*ggas
Left in troubled waters like Greg Louganis
Ain't nothin' touchin' from Brooklyn to Metuchen
Or wherever the f*ck you cats rest your head at, dead that
The last time you seen us, n*ggas popped up in Beamers
Shopped up in Neiman's, locked hip-hop up between us
Squeamish rappers stay out of my space like Venus
Or it's Soulshocker, Jigga n*ggademus
Murderous writin', not a word of it to your likin'
Since we make you hate to love it like Prince
'Til a n*gga feel straight like Bill Gates
Or feel a mil'-eight, we gon' spill hate, in-fil-trate
Die! It's your fate, realize the great
Get your hardhats, professionals rockin', n*gga, wait
Timing's everything, everything that glitters ain't gold
There's diamonds in every ring, what the f*ck!
In the driver's seat, n*gga used to live in the back
Muggsy Bogues style, now a n*gga bigger than Shaq
Crib in the Cat, skills, living phat
Chickens that used to act ill
f*ck y'all, I ain't forgivin' that (f*ck y'all!)
A n*gga bitter so, when a n*gga hit you, believe (Ugh)
I'm tryna hurt your stomach like ten thousand sit-ups (Yeah)
Jigs, baby, what it is! Just as casual
You blast for me, you better believe I blast for you
Yeah!
[Interlude]
Yeah, uh-huh, yeah
Every time, y'all (Roc-A-Fella, y'all)
What, what, Jay-Z, huh (What, yeah, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, Roc-A-Fella y'all (Marcy)
What, we rock on y'all, representin' the
Yeah, yeah uh-huh
(Let these n*ggas know)
West Coast n*ggas, man
Getting out of line, man
Watch your step, haha
f*ck around
Yeah, yeah, yeah

[Verse 2]
Yo, react, biatch n*gga
Think they can f*ck with the rich n*gga
Jigga, they can't touch ya
Say y'all, we livin' like S-T-A-RS
You faggot n*ggas don't play yours, my team'll slay yours
Naysayers, can't f*ck around we lay yours
With our hands up there, sh*t, I swear to God
Since money's respected you know I had to get it
Collect it like antiques, and let it stack
Brrrrrrr, like that
I mastered this fast sh*t, now I move on
'Cause too many bast*rds tried to get they groove on
And now you see me jiggy, you puzzled
He ain't sellin' no records, is he? That n*gga gotta hustle
sh*t, you bet your guns, by any means, I get my ones
You intervene, by any means, I get ya done
For real