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[Timbaland] Yo (yo), yo, ay yo Timabaland's flow infamous Allow me to assemble this flow with limitless style For all man, woman and innocent child I have no perimeter Break all barriers in various areas My sound is mimicked Track prime minister, some say sinister None stoppin the groove until when it's The climax, some niggas is bitin my hot hats And followed my drum pattern, but I done that It's time to change, get more deranged Feels more strange (doooodooooo) Follow me through gravel and shallow trees From mountains to flat plain, to thunder and black rain Through the dream state of utopia Woke up to the sounds of that man Timbaland Five Mexican bitches scopin us Belly dancin, sayin "hell, he's handsome" in Spanish We was fine until the subtitles vanished Then and open fire, totin opium Higher than I ever been in my life Heard cries throughout the night like
[Chorus: Static] Let's get 'em started While they dance on, Indian Carpet C'mon, uh Niggas act retarded While they dance on, Indian Carpet C'mon, uh Let's get 'em started While they dance on, Indian Carpet
[Timbaland] Ay yo, I woke up to a bowl of rice like the Golden Child T.V. playin like the Poltergeist, must been on overnight I saw a strong beam of light, decided to walk to it Could it be the son of Christ, I decided to talk to it In the halls I heard music shoutin beautiful calls And I swore I heard a voice say: It's yours my, gift to you, to do what you choose But I suggest you do what you do to make the spirits move I hear ya dude, and me bein a barrel of fruit But your ears heavenly, when I sit in this chair and produce Then my hallway darkened I felt a power surge rush throughout my apartment And the glance callin like
[Chorus]
[Magoo] Mag spit with a sense of purpose on purpose When you was eatin collard greens I was eatin these dreams I stepped in dog shit and bit Skid Row twice Only ice I had put it in my orange Slice What you know about livin in a jail when it ain't no bars Handcuffed with no key, world denyin your plea A third-degree charge when it ain't no crime Twenty-six years old and I got more time Phone overdue, baby on the way, low pay Low rent for your mom, gotta get away Smoke, hate now, then you wanna talk about the ghetto I'm tenth generation of that, came out the womb with a hat Polo on and Nikes with a gold tooth I'm Superman, I can spit from any phone booth You and your cold ass crew do what you do Just remember Mag never feel good, I am the flu
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