Remember the Titans lyrics

[Intro: Fabolous]
Uh
Uh
Yeah
(J. Cardim)
Yeah
Yeah

[Verse 1: Fabolous]
These n*ggas losing their minds, you find that there's no reward
They say they already home, it’s really clear they abroad
They sound like they boxed in, it’s not just where they record
There’s a cost to be a boss they can’t clearly afford
Swear to the Lord, there's guns like a audience
You put on a show, my .40 clearly applauds
Sitting fifth row, I might appear to be bored
Plotting on a Kanye, but screaming, "Where’s my award?"
Balling out of control, never won an ESPY
'Bout to buy a black ghost and name that sh*t SP
Flow outta this world, I’m coming for my Moon Man
You n*ggas slide back like that walking on the moon dance
No glitter glean, handgun with a beam
Have some boys follow you, Street Fam, Twitter team
Like you could f*ck with me, oh did it seem?
Dr. King and Def Jam ain't the only ones with a dream
I’m a grown-ass man, this kid a teen
You’re a spoof of me like if hip hop did a Scream
Audi coupe looking good so I went and copped it
Got that TT popping like a trending topic
My ride's matte black, my pride is that jacked
It might get ya dog shot, even a cat smacked
Anyway though, styles don’t apply to me
Jeff Goldblum couldn’t be more fly than me
Shorty say, "Right after the suck, f*ck, poof"
You hit it on the head girl, duck duck goose
You shoulda got the message that I chuck up deuce
Break 'em off and leave it, you seen my f*cked up tooth
It’s f*ck a b*tch, it’s more fish in the aquarium
I rarely hear no, like when n*ggas ask you to marry them
There’s no lights in the place you buy your jewelry from
Funeral Fab, I’m just here to bury them
[Verse 2: Joe Budden]
Reporting live from the Beacon, booth tired from the beating
Had foreplay all day, prepping the beat and the mic for a threesome
With my vocal bi-coastal, speeding 'til the ride's totaled
Mr. Wi-Fi, out a franchise, go to magic, standby local’s
Watch the track bust once I show my di*k size to the Pro-Tools
I teach you how to have models screaming, "Get behind me"
E-pills and Maybachs ain't gon' matter if your tip is tiny
Never mind me, we could get knee-deep in the beef
Seek me with the heat but you’ll need more to keep me on a leash
Here’s a CC for the peeps that wanna see me in the streets
Invest in Rockports and be easy on your feet
Give a few hammers, a few semi’s and a few snubs
To a few Crips, couple vampires and true Bloods
Gambling in casinos, have a honey handing me my c-notes
To her, I'm a modern-day Gambino, I’m careful every step I take
You the n*gga walk up in a shootout with some pepper spray
That’d be the last mistake you ever made
Me, I chop his head off from a rooftop
And race it downstairs just to see if I can catch his fade
Like groceries when I’m shooting at fags
Make sure the bread's separated and put the fruits in a bag
Withstand the hatred, dudes is fallin off doin all they can to save it
But everybody's run stops, ask Brandon Jacobs
What y’all call swag to me is all faggotry
Fours want blat at me, that’d equal more casualties
Abort the strategy or get attacked with that Duracell
They put in your back, now that's assault and battery
You can keep the b*tching to yourself
There’s beams on every burner, these lasers, a petition wouldn’t help
What good is having shooters if they the type that miss?
Where I’m from, better be careful where you drive that whip
n*ggas put they life at risk for pies they flip
In my town, Ben Affleck wouldn't try that sh*t
And if he did he’d get turned around, burnt down
Tell the new jacks it’ll be a while 'fore they eligible to earn the crown
[Verse 3: Lloyd Banks]
Acid out the baggie, this is more than dope, flawless flow
f*cking off a sign every horoscope done wore my robes
Strapping up the corner cold, critical
Unquestioned, my opponents know
I shoot like Kapono, watch me own the show
Comatose, toasted, getting money while I roam the coast
Stones and boats, mansion homes and hoes
I deserve ‘em both, overdose
Time to earn my votes, watch me turn the volts
Voltage through a meter, this electric chair, danger
Yeah, I see ya, now make way 'fore it turn to diarrhea
Hear a microphone will give you 3 of everything I wear yeah
Models by the pair, swear, bottles, private Lear, steer
Style that's outta here, rare, thousands by the chair, square
Sleep with me, you came here, war with me is scary
Get beat silly trying to lamp here, better bring your fury heat
I got a drop damp here, n*ggas try me barely
No one breathes, I need an ant's ear, pressure's necessary
Got my mind on the cheddar, kill my haters together
Bury 'em in abundance and starve their families stomach’s
Paper come in my thumbage, brand new fifties and hundreds
On point, just like the drum is, I’m warning them baby mothers
Got the hunger of a broke rapper
Kill you while I’m rolling up then smoke after
Catch you at your show, snatch ya, empty out the dough faster
Bentley off the scene, magnum Mo' splasher, four packer
Southside n*gga spitting coke at ya!
[Verse 4: Royce da 5’9"]
Nickel! This is for the fronters and the naysayers
I’m about to scare away the drummers and the bass players
They say I’m out of my league on this one, so when I get done
I want you to cut your f*ckin' ears off and Twitpic ‘em!
Lord, I want you to leave this vicinity
You gon' be around here 'bout long as Justin Bieber’s virginity
This is Jesus identity, mixed with weed, Hennessy, Kennedy, King
Mixed with a kill or be killed killer regime, illest you seen, switch
Y’all write all that hard sh*t then you fall right off, it’s horrible
My oracle is all I offer, so before I borrow your
'Won’t be here tomorrow' flow, sorry, I will prob'ly
Adiós my body wit' somebody toast, this sh*t just practice
Sickest rapping Baptist, kill your pastor
Steal your Chapstick, after that make you kiss a cactus
Then take your ho, make the ho give the whole clique fellatio
Everyone, that wasn’t the whole entourage on HBO
Then after that, I tell her, "I can’t do much with you, shawty!
I just found out I could fly to Dubai and hire Buffie the Body!"
Don't call us if the b*tches ain’t flawless
If they are then we can hang like Aretha Franklin bra-less
The drunk me can box like a sober you
The sober me be more nervous than Waka Flocka in the voting booth
We beef like being deep and dumping K’s
You beef like Lady Gaga and her stylist
Y’all get together to look good in front of a bunch of gays
My feng shui is a pump in the desert
You’ll come up shorter than an Asian jumping out of a trunk in the desert
While my wolfpack looks for strippers and cocaine
n*ggas snitching, it’s a shame, we call 'em male tattlers
Fiends touching they noses more than URL battlers
It’s hard to spit saliva when you spit fire, so I’ll just
Pour sugar in your gas tank, put a banana in your tailpipe
Ah ha, so the car can fit the driver