44 fours
Can I kick it? (Yes you can)
Can I kick it? (Yes you can)
Can I kick it? (Yes you can)
(I'm kinda lovin' that)
Can I kick it? (Yes you can)
Can I kick it? (Yes you can)
Can I kick it? (Yes you can)
WELL I'M GONE!
Roc-A-Fella forever, Hov' for life
Debut's a classic, first album, four mics
Should've got a five, but niggas lack foresight
But I don't give a fuck, I ain't do it for the hype
I do it for the hustlers for the ghetto for the plight
For the struggle for those who bubble white
For fly 4X4s, roofless cars, flawless ice
For the pain for y'all to know what it's like
For every time it rains 40 days and 40 nights
For every promise made that never saw the light
I'll get my own forty acres, give me four nights
Four O's, a Glock 40 for the jackers and I'm Spike
Or the four-four will suffice
A fourteen-year-old to look out for the vice
You can sit back and just wait for the flight
Your boy'll take off like I've been strippin' all my life
That's the type of metaphors I write
To let niggas know I was real before the mic
Four front rows, had the fur at the fight
No PETA on my Peter, left some room for the divas
In the suite, we'll meet up if ya wild for the night
On a rampage, champagne pours, on the floor
For all those who ain't make it here and lost they life
Wouldn't forget y'all for any price
Not for no hoes, not for no ice
Not for no fame nor for bright lights
So I'ma end this here, a fly ass kite
44 fours, muh'fucka, I'm NICE