DESCRIPTION:
Joe Budden - "R.I.P"
Recorded, mixed and released January 9, 2010
Produced by J. Cardim

Lyrics (Credit to breeze89 on JBTV):
Check JoeBuddenLyrics for updates: http://adf.ly/EdJ1


I ain't gotta care in sight/
Don't blame me blame the syrup and the sprite/
It's the new shit that they'll find me on, Maricón!/
Best rapper in the world/
But need help leaving "No Doubt" now that Gwen Stefani's gone/
Ey'body's a Hannibal/
Swallowing they eyes watching what they say, what y'all can do is pray/
Before I got reformed nigga, glock went on the waist/
Cross Dressing, nothing but mothers stocking on my face/
Ain't no one you wanna try so fast/
Talk crazy but Walk the Walk, left a trail down a psycho path/
Disturbing the peace, swerve in the vee, ey' word in my speech/
Too heavy to bare become a burden on the beat/
Look, I'm dealing with passive aggressive, nasty women/
That take me from humble beginnings to a happy ending/
If it ain't about a buck, then it's the wrong thought/
You balling on a cap space, you in the wrong sport/
Attack me cause I say shit/
That's that way of curving that they had me as a favorite/
They learning from Larry David/
Chrome trigger you blown off the liquor/
Prolly a Tombstone'll come quicker, patron ain't ya nigga/
None of you dudes ain't soldiers/
Add Helm's, when you lose your dog blame the hangover/
Flame thrower, get me when the label can't control ya/
Can't send a chain smoker inside a Propane Holder/
Currency is the plan to bury me where I stand/
Fruck a record label, I appear courtesy of my fans/
And they can try to hurt me but they can't/
I refuse to ball my fist while the heart beat of Jersey's in my hand/
So I tell dude like I tell my nympho chick/
Keep it up, and you bound to get Frucked!/
Sounding real tough, ey' line he move weight like he's a "Monster"/
I'm looking at his "Keys" like "Mashonda"/
Round up the troops, to tell him how he sound in the booth/
You don't sound like the truth!/
Wanna be on top of the WORLD, till he found on a roof/
Tell dudes the old dudes, I'll be the poison on they Fountain of Youth, NIGGA!/
I create it, you mock it/
We know the shits belated when you jock it!/
Hold his shit hostage/
Pen'ing dat garbage!
Before I pull the plug on it, sending it Hospice!/
Foreign to you, "American Me"/
Got it locked! It's foreign to you, "Skeleton Key"/
You takin em' home, I give em' the Sheridan key/
You savin em' birds, Denzel, "Pelican Brief"/
And I ain't, tryna buy what I'm selling to meet/
Done babying grown men, done helping em' eat/
But they say "You only rap about Joe" give it a rest/
Grow a set! Dog I only spit about what I know best/
I got skin made of Kevlar/
Tough and still say fuck the skill/
And I fall on, blaze the house that Russel built/
Bring it on, sing along, ring tones, blink wrong/
I come where the label that say dont try, seein it home(?)/
Just smart, I figured I be less dark/
Tell a model bitch, "Let's part" over her stretch mark/
But being truthful too brutal to dudes/
So I lie like a bad Teacher, keep going till your Pupils confused/
Tired of hearing how you brush ya Hammer/
Though this wouldn't be my public cancer/
Twice as nice as y'all, though your fans love your grammar/
They act like my bitches, guess when they come to me they double the standards/
Fuck boy, I ain't them other dudes/
Pick whatever gun, son found a problem that he can't Trouble-Shoot/
Notice I, so it like(?) Old School-esque/
Poet like, Proto-Type, since these niggas can't flow it right/
Fans ain't falling for the mad-ness either/
You milking the game it's from a bad breast feeder/
Make you a believer, doubt what I said? Moment of silence/
Bow our head