Artist: Fabolous f/ Paul Cain Album: More Street Dreams Pt. 2: The Mixtape Song: Renegade Typed by: firstname.lastname@example.org [Intro - Fabolous] Uh, you think I give a fuck about what these niggas say man They even talked about Jesus [Fabolous] I ain't mad at when it rain, cause I know the sun is somewhere shinin Sorta like some clear diamonds I hardly see my moms, but she know her son is somewhere grindin Some where rhymin, or somewhere climbing Out of a pottable 760, inclasable very sticky Wit a handgun, to send these cowards to Heaven quickly I ain't pussy, so I won't allow you to ever dick me I know these greaseballs, wonder how could they ever stick me But I move, like the President through town Wit stones the size of earrings, in my Presidential crown I put hollows from the Desert into clowns, cause the cemetary Is where most of the dudes, that are hesitant are found So I take the time, of whatever the bench throw The 4BM put down, in a seventy-two inch hole Mean while getting adapted, to the fame has be hectic But I'm fucking like I'm tryna take down Chamberlain's record And the girls more than like you, when you running run Doing world tours like Michael, but girl's sure don't like you You going on like thirty-six, flowin on some berry mix The little money you get, you blowing on them dirty chicks Tryna look young, so you throwing on the jersey quick I'm on my second V-12, you going on ya thirty-six You can look at this rider, and see I'm on the come-up Cause I pass the hitch-hikers, like I don't see 'em with they thumb up I just turn the system up and keep boppin I never get, where I'm tryna go, if a nigga keep stoppin And I tell the cops, this joint is for protection Don't they see when I come through, how these people point in my direction That's why I poke out my jeans, like my joint with a erection Till I'm in a joint made for correction And right now, the way rapper bi'ness spread It wouldn't even surprise me, if one of these rappers is a Fed, nigga [Paul Cain] Since I'm in the position to get rich, I'ma get it Whether it come from rapping on blocks, flipping and pitching And fuck the stove, and the kitchen where I cook and prepare it (Nigga you know) and don't try to act like the truth ain't apparent I'm on a mission to get richer, it's as simple as that I make it obvious, when I pick up a pencil and rap Like a .40 Cal, spittin on instrumentals I clap! And these verses, are like the hollow point I sent through yo back I get you murdered if I think you a wrap Cause if you don't show loyalty, then that show me where ya principles at And you don't know how much I been through, in fact I never did like you, I ain't even gon' pretend wit you cats And I'm the nicest, I ain't gotta say it twice and repeat it I'm a lyrical genius, I never been beated, defeated I'ma draw my weapon and squeeze it, you better believe it Leave you parapaligic, I demand respect and I mean it My Desert's the meanest, you probably dead if you seen it Or spored out somewhere sick, you get red on the cement And I blow off ya head for no reason, and just when I'm leavin You don't know me ya on me homie, but the spread make us even, BLOAW! [Outro - Paul Cain] And the bad part about it is man, haha I'm only twenty years old man And I'm just havin fun Man I ain't even tryin man Desert Storm's youngest, and in charge man Paul Cain, man Yo Fab man, you ain't even gotta go hard man I got these niggas man Clue! Holla at cha boy Skatin Dolla Duro! it's our year man Desert Storm, we gon' kill niggas man You already know what it is It's a ho'cide man Stop "Street Dreamin"