Fan Mail – B.o.B – letras

What’s up with this faggot?Fuck is with this nigga?Why is he still rapping?He even wears the fashionShut us up to make him pop commercials smashesSeriouslyThat’s why people don’t take you seriouslyThat’s why we don’t wanna hear nothin’ you say’Cause you ain’t the man that you appear to beNo, nigga, seriouslyWe don’t wanna hear your conspiraciesAnd we don’t wanna hear your political views’bout extraterrestrial activitiesLook, nigga, make up your mindHow much longer you gon’ wait to decide?You was kickin’ some dangerous linesNow buyin’ your shit a waste of my timeNigga, what’s up with you?That’s why all my niggas don’t fuck with youAnd that’s why we don’t come to your after parties’Cause we don’t wanna hang in the club with youIt’s only two types of niggasA street nigga and a you type of niggaAll [?] type of niggaProlly born with a noose, it was boom type of niggaA new type of niggaA sell out surrounded by wealthYou should have been one of the greatsNow you just sound like everyone elseHello?Ah, what are you doin’? What are you doin’?You losin’ your cool, fan basin’ your viewersLet me show you how to flowshow you how to make musicObviously you clueless, how I know? ‘Cause I’m JewishOh, is that unruly? If I’ma say so, rulyWhat if I stand on trial? What if I stand on jury?What are we on Tv? Who’s the judge? Judge Judy?What am I supposed to return all these cars and jewelry?Like I ain’t even know how the flow supposed to goLike I ain’t even know how the show supposed to flowLike I ain’t even know how the beat supposed to soundLike I ain’t even know where the notes supposed to goLike I ain’t even know how my soul’s supposed to feelLike I ain’t supposed to win, like I ain’t supposed to glowBut you’ll never understand the way that I thinkIf you ain’t grow up with it, sold dope beforeOh, number one draft pick, number one draft pickOh, he’s nice for a black guy, oh, he’s smart for a rapperOh, that’s who he’s with? Oh, she’s cute for a black chickOh, he’s actually cool, I went to school with him actuallyActually, he could have has a masterpieceNow it’s just a fuckin’ catastropheAnyway, get fists on a fireTell him send it over to Mastra