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Artist: U-God f/ Styles P
Album:  The Keynote Speaker
Song:   Fame
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: U-God (sample)]
You know it's all about (fame, fame)
You know it's all about (fame)

I'm a winner in my book
Lean cuisine, in the kitchen, the fly cook
In the air, like Kareem and the sky hook
Def Jux, my left hook, this is easy work
It's the mic mechanics, see the greasy shirt
This is easy perks, photo shoots, stepped out of the chopper
My bitch know she cute, Manolo boots, keep cussing at the hustlers
How you gonna get loot? You cussing out the customers
No sales, you better have my cash
If the feds don't grab me, I got lots of plans
I need gold, the all-star cast
In the leading role, call it cruise control
Everything is shakable, everything is cake-able
No chinks in my armor, I'm feeling unbreakable
Swimming through the shark's tank, I'm top rank

[Chorus: U-God (sample)]
For the (fame) for the (fame) for the (fame)
For the (fame) for the (fame) for the (fame)

On my arm I draw ink, resemble war tank
The glass tipper, spilling up more drink
All I do is think of ways to smash him
Eyes on me, rise for the anthem
Rings like Green Lantern, in the green phantom
Talk of the town, don't he look handsome?
You little league, you only major debt
It's the takeover, I'm cashing European checks
Brush your teeth, I'm your early morning toothache
Stomp the roach, this is how my boo taste
Cotton candy, hot sipping Brandy
Pass me my suitcase, you skinny pants fruitcake
Listen to the grime, when it's mixed with crime
I'm dusting off my rhyme book, you stalking on my timeline
From the foul line, back to the huddle
Writing tracks on the bullet train, to the shuttle


[Styles P]
Raised by Wolves like the book by Cavario
Did a lotta dirt but never will say sorry though
Wild like the Latin boys down in El Bario
Quick on the juks, then you better do your cardio
Run to 'em, or run from 'em
He's a killa, so you can't take his gun from him
He bag coke, so his hands feel numb from 'em
He's a coldhearted bastard, better dumb dumb 'em
Preferably a forty-five, my job is making sure
If they violate the big man and little shorty ride
Out in the stretcher in the ambulance, me? I let the hammer blam
For niggas moving grams on the hand to hand
If I'm talking snow, it's an avalanche
I ain't thinking of rap, but catch me in a battle stance
Yeah, it's the Ghost, muthafucka
Guns, rappers and blunts, yeah, I smoke muthafucka

Check out my drunk dance, the Killah Hill red bone
Put that on my headstone, you see the gem stone?
Call it in the end zone, headphones, Dr. Dre
The new sensation, yeah, I got a lot to say
Let him speak, he's so misunderstood
Let him speak, the new voice of the hood
Never had the type, always had the heart
Keep it simple and sharp, til I land on the charts