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don't stop yet! - chris classic lyrics

[intro: pharrell williams]
ugh, what

[verse 1: pharrell williams]
explain yourself, how you sound like me?
the motherf*cking skateboard p
knowing that you’re milo, playing games like cee*lo
in a tight situation like speedos
you can have it your way like carlito
my n*ggas would be happy to give y’all torpedoes
and have your car twisted like a blunt
for you f*ggot*ass n*ggas that like to front
i’m on some bbc bape sh*t, i’m on some cake sh*t
in the kitchen with the heat, making beats in my apr*n
you hating and you want to erase it
close your eyes when you know you can’t take it
my flow interrupts your homeostasis
i rolls*royce it on a regular basis
you talk street sh*t, it sound like sweet sh*t
straight licorice, you n*ggas sound ticklish
80k largе for the hermès dream
purplе croc in all your magazines
hunger strike yourself, look like céline
dion, me and my n*ggas like freon
your b*tch is on my pecan, she got an ass you can eat on
try to play tough like the leather on a vuitton
i hit it ’til i could seat on, tryna get her freak on
ask me to r. kelly ya and get peed on
i said, “that ain’t me, ma”
that eight behind me still got the burner
yes, the enzo is still black like sojourner
truth, i might have just loosened a tooth
spitting what i did in the booth, i’m out, poof
[verse 2: lupe fiasco]
carrera, raised in the teenage mutant ninja turtle era
water*bearer tell the truth, i dare you
you lie, so eat this whole bottle of these jalapeño peppers
for terror made in america too live
f*ck the property or give me my props properly
high off life, this high technology, devry
i rep muhammad ali, more like rap*ology
my policy’s not to be dishonestly deprived
so gimme that, gimme that, keep god where my city at
i’m like steak with fries but never died
they wanna ghostface, wanna be me
but they will post*haste follow me into the afterlife
that means you going right after i’ve
but i’m the hero, sorta like jack sparrow
so some way, somehow, i have survived
ha, ha, surprised?
who is he that we see coming over the tides?
in a speed boat, boatload of pride
fall of rome, dress*shirted and mastermind tie
he what happens when rapping and avant garde fashion collides
omg, it’s the c from the crs
lol*ing at you haters, tell your bffs like

[verse 3: kanye west & chris classic]
yes, mr. west, turn that new child rebel
loud as a badass child level
who need a chorus? we do it tyrannosaurus
tyrone, it’s been a year with no phone
could you explain how high is your zone?
we’ll take the plane, rub his nose in cocaine
there’s hoes in magazines you layin’ saying you’re lame
and for the hate in advance, pull down your pants
make ’em kiss both cheeks like we living in france
diamonds blue, his business manager’s jewish
and if i get sued, my lawyers jews
some girls do grab the cojones
say, “you got enough diamonds to at least sierra loan us”
brand new ferraris, i gotta make the donuts
crs is like a hip*hop christmas bonus
n*ggas is hating on the internet, i couldn’t tell
i was too busy rapping g.o.o.d. as h*ll
i was too busy flying, parasail
to colette to get the new sh*t that paris sell
tarantino, da vinci, getting benjis
get half*off at fendi, half of that’s to cindy’s
hopped out the sp*ceship, put my mork in mindy
popped too many corks to let you dorks offend me
props in new york but chi*town’s the city
get my groupie hoochies gucci, monica belluccis
are those the real millionaires or the bindis? (yeah)
i’m so ultra, i’m even over oprah
but let me check your account, haha, no sir (hold up ye, hold up)
[verse 4: chris classic]
uh.. whos this? came last and got enough currensy to ski on y’all beats, dame dash
it’s been a minute
intermittently independent of whoevers spinnin i won the pendant with different women
reminiscent of crush linen in 96, when shawn corey carter was still in the city sinnin
crs
be the best but n*ggas was missin the h and i so hi m*th*f*cka it’s i
who got the b*lls who got the gall to come on a track, after y’all and smack e’m all? c’mon
it’s g.o.o.d fridays by mondays you’re borin’
so i be first class to london, lauren…
hill ha chill for real he so bold
lightskin but he ain’t drake or j cole
imma child rebel soldier, this guerilla warfare
the mayor of your girls p*ssy on foursquare

- chris classic lyrics

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