Can some of ya'll post some Joey quotes? Im at work and cant hear shiiiiiiit
Truth Or Truth Lyrics
[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9"]
I’m stressed out so much I’m like, “Why stress it?”
Am I selfish, for asking myself this
“Would you rather count money or count blessings?”
Now that’s a wild question
Fame turned my life upside down
I guess it was meant to be like passing Beyonce a Tic-Tac
And that ain’t a diss, this way more to me than a diss track
JAY-Z IS GOD TO ME!
NAS IS GOD TO ME!
EMINEM IS LIKE B.I.G. AND PAC TO ME!
And if you disagree I hope you bleed hypocrisy!
And this will be the realest shyt I ever wrote
Shoutout to all the crazy bytches I’ve been involved with
Thank y’all for making my wife a crazier bytch than y’all bytches
Y’all might’ve lost me, but y’all win
And this will be the realest shyt I ever wrote
Now let’s talk about the BET Awards
When Kanye went to the podium for the win
And mentioned everyone in the same category as him but me and Em
He said they motivated him
And normally that would be ammo to hate on him
But that ain’t my M.O! My M.O. is to be mo’ motivatin’
This new-wave culture is so cultivatin’
Where the fukk do I fit in?
And this will be the realest shyt I ever wrote
I succumb so much to this game I feel sorrow
I answer more questions about the 40 and Game squabble
Than I answer questions that I ask myself
“Are you a good father?”, the answers, “Well
fukk this! Royce got a game tomorrow”
I ain’t gotta spell out the offers
If being famous means speaking to people in offices
Over being there for your sons and daughters
I’m off this
I know the last couple of lines kinda fell out of the pocket
But I don’t give a fukk! Let me tell you this:
When was the last time you cop some shyt where it actually came out of your pocket?
Answer that!
If I gotta answer questions from you
You gotta answer questions from me!
“I’m fukking my whole life up for you?” Answer this question:
“What the fukk are you doing for me?” Answer that!
Still I love my fans, even though you all looking me like I’m just this drunk nikka
That’s just throwing up behind shyt, blowing up, but nikka I ain’t throwing up shyt but my hands
And this is just me growing up
Courtney Artesia, Kino and Fish, please support me I need ya
But in reality an artist is supposed to be supported by easels
But in the meanwhile, I’m just supported by evil
[Verse 2: Joe Budden]
I mean, I’m no longer fukkin’ amused
I mean I addressed this shyt on “Cut You Loose”
How long am I supposed to stick around for this fukkin’ abuse?
Every time I go to leave, I figure “fukk is the use?”
I endure it for the true fans that covered that new
Or is that just another fukkin’ excuse?
Do I do it for attention cause I crave it, I won’t mention it, I’ll save it
If you know me than you know a nikka treasure anonymity
nikka thought that as a man, you must be kiddin’ me
And I’m starting to feel like my fans are now condemning me
Listen, I don’t owe y’all shyt
Same Joe I am today is the same Joe y’all get
Y’all will interrupt a nikka while he at his place of worship
And think that came along with your 20 dollar purchase
You bought the music, not the nikka that made it
But let me touch up on that nikka that made it
If you’re judging me on actions then I’ll take that L every time
If you conclude “Joe Budden is a corny mu’fukker”
Cause all it mean if I’m a corny mu’fukker
Is the greatest rapper ever’s just a corny mu’fukker
My bad, I’m not as street as you
But all this time I was being me, not being you
I get behind that mic, let all my demons through
Without knowing shyt about the people that I’m speaking to
Add that to me not seeing a reason to
And that says a lot in a room full of silence, listen
At 21 I had a drug problem
At 31 still drugs is a problem
But the thing about that pill is it made everything real
And I felt I needed to see
Funny thing about it all, I ain’t like what I saw
Now the lord’s voice is in my head like
“You’ll be DEAD soon for questioning me”
Another lesson for me
Far greater than whatever I profess it to be
Cause if left to me, I’d put our eyes in our brains
We’d over-think what we see and our whole lives would change
But fukk it, that day had to come
Who ever knew that I would have a son?
I coulda guessed it, I was fukkin’ like a rabbit
But I never saw him handle scoliosis like his dad did
Never knew me and Ronnie would talk again
fukk a rhyme, I’m just happy that we talk again
Who knew that the second I acknowledged you
You would get terminally ill, be in the hospital
The thought of you leaving is what fukks with me
I’m scared to death of getting full custody
nikka, I look in the mirror disgustingly
So how am I supposed to feel the day that he looks up to me?
I always said you were the worst baby-mother
I had ex-girl confused with baby-mother
And there lies my problem with our creator
All the times I wanted her black ass dead, you wouldn’t take her
Don’t do it now, I need her
Understand, it don’t get no realer
See how I go to bed with thoughts of a damn killer
But rather show y’all my girl through these Instagram filters
Look at her, don’t look at me
Cause if y’all judging, y’all would throw the book at me
Speakin’ of shorty, nah, I’ll do that in private
It might be a little soon for me to let her know how I get
shyt, and now we right back at one
Real quick, let me get back to my son
When a nikka was like
He said “Dad, I’m weird… but I don’t have a problem with that”
And I was like haha… I laughed, and I was like
“Well, number 1, why do you think you’re weird
And number 2, why don’t you have a problem with that?”
And he looked me in my eyes and he was like
“Well, I say I’m weird, number 1, because I know I’m weird
And I don’t have a problem with it because that’s me
And whoever don’t like it, they don’t have to be around me
I’m comfortable with me and who I am”
And right there, that was cold
In my head I thought That was bold
Illest shyt about it all, said that at 10 years-old
So I could die right now
I could die right now and feel like he got the most important part of Joe
Or, better than that
I could die right now and feel like he know all he need to know
Joey
Royce, what up
Last night we cried tears of joy
This morning they were still there
What’s handicap without the wheelchair
That’s what we are, but fukk it
We’ll be the sacrificial lamb for y’all nikkas
Hate it or love it
Leave all of that, b, fukk it
[Verse 3: Crooked I]
Yeah man, I kinda feel where my nikka was coming from
Both my nikkas
You know
Baby moms was on Worldstar n shyt
Ya know, talk about I take care of my junior
Me and my nikkas straight though
Yo, my little nikka rap
I just let it be ya know cause people get their feelings hurt over other shyt so
I just let it go you know
I aint have no rebuttal
But err, when you grew up fukked up
Nobody’s perfect ya’know
But I’m perfect for this
This rap shyt man
Eastside long beach, Atlantic avenue and hill
Crooked was a youngster my ghetto attitude was real
Dumper in the waist in case I had to shoot to kill
Rocking dumb mics cause I had was stupid skill
Eastsiders we cypher about a bus bytch
Some sippin’ toca vodka, others had the blunt pitched
A lot of them nikkas died, sweatshirt blood drenched
Others went to jail, they hit a lick and left thumbprints
Long beach I salute ya grind
Even though you think you I sold out you not saluting mine
I don’t come around much, I’m on music’s time
Lost and found I found when I’m broke I lose my mind
So I hustle like I’m on a hunger strike
Without a doubt when I cuff a mic
I leave a body count like the shotty’s out
Cause I’m from a group called slaughter
Rap better than everybody house
Now they think I’m in the game and stuntin’
But I’m like an orgasm man, I came from nothing
Some of you from the burbs but you claim you wasn’t
So lame you struttin’, the cain you frontin’
fukk all that, if I was born rich I would rhyme about it
I was born poor in a ditch, I’m rhyming tryna climb up out it
Tryna avoud a life of crime I’m ’bout
Some say I’ll be fine without it
But I kinda doubt it
Death around the corner, prison breathing down my neck
Chasing paper til a nikka wheezing out of breath
IRS wanna fukk me, I aint even outta debt
Said they Young Buck me, tryna squeeze me outta checks
Yeah, them fools tryna squeeze me outta checks
Don’t talk to dominic’s unless you pay ya mommas rent
With marijuana sent outta town, them dollars spent
My own fam wanna grab the steel and harm me
But I got the nuts to kill an army
Word to Killa army, man all them killers adore me
BET red carpet, the steel was on me
To put a slug in my flesh and blood wouldn’t feel good
Serena crip walking at the Olympics I’m still hood
Still me, til my candle is blown
So many secrets I only told to a glass of patron
Half of my fathers family died of cancer alone
He called me sick, I didn’t answer the phone
How does it feel to know that your son doesn’t care
Cause you wasn’t there, life wasn’t fair
I look at steps in the wrong direction, another stare
Yeah muthafukka yeah
I swear, just the other muthafukking night dawg
Like nikkas, nikkas rolled in front of my studio on my kids life
Nah’mean, I ran through the fukking studio to my office grabbed that 3.57 thang man
Came out waving, I’m bout to bust, the police pass by
My little brothers told me I needed to chill
Nah’mean, this is what I do man, this is the life I live for real dawg
This aint no muthafukkin’ rap music
Just the other night I coulda killed a nikka man
Nah’mean, I wouldn’t be here rapping about this shyt
Think about it man
[Verse 4: Joell Ortiz]
My grandmom’s left me, father don’t exist
Baby moms stress me, my momma got a cyst
My older son love football and the little nikka hands is mean
But he chronic asthmatic so he fully suited on the sideline wishing he could be in there but still
cheering for his team
My youngest son got nervous, sometimes he cry to me
I’m looking at him like it’s not you fault
You was conceived when daddy was such a slave to his everyday anxiety
I worked at UPS for a week and my boss aint have to fire me
I wasn’t fit to lift boxes I quit
Don’t put me in that box when I spit
My life wasn’t too muthafukking fly for me
Wasn’t too muthafukking fly for me
From the lobby huffing and puffing running from robberies
To Crooked I, Royce Da 5’9″, Joe Budden, homie from the goodie mob and me carving artistry
Celebrating escaping poverty
Ashy knees and no socks
Chinese outta hocks but that was on the first, other than that
Liver works and government sent me yellow cheese in box
Ya’ll aint have that yellow cheese in a box
Last night I cried tears of joy
But the other night I cried tears my boy
No longer here I can’t hear his voice
I guess upstairs they playing dealers choice
Popped a pill with Joe I’m sippin’ clear with Royce
Crook light a cigar nikka
My little homie just hit the pen
Went in a younger dodi, came out a senior citizen
And them crackers just denied me
fukk dawg I can’t even sneak a visit in
I aint hustlin’ no more if y’all listening
Ya’ll nikkas only get the music man
Ya’ll know what be going on with a nikka day to day
I mean shyt I aint complaining or nothing
Like a nikka stand on his own two and hold it down
But it’s realer than you think nikka
You think I give a fukk about a rap list
I just left my condo, hopped up in my car I’m on my way to fukk an actress
I don’t need y’all to remind me bout my pen and pad gift
And how my ad-libs subtract your wack spit
Multiply my visits to chase dividing mad chips amongst 3 other nikkas who spazz quick!
Nah nikka this aint no rap clique
This is a muthafukking takeover
I want another Range Rover
I got such a hangover celebrating the fact my mother became sober
My uncle fading from that needle though
Found out he fully blown a couple weeks ago
My aunt tested negative but it’s the same result
But she gon die on the day he stop breathing yo
To know me aint to love me
Nah, to know me is to know me
Cause you aint got to like me but respect that I aint phony
Not a nominee for Tony’s or Oscars for my uh balony
Wat you see is what you get
Hope you getting what you see cause what you seeing is a threat
Come at me with indirect’s, I aint gon write a song about you
I’mma knee you in your neck
And write a song about how I just beat you have to death
Don’t play with my little nikkas
I’m just a grown ass man tryna feed my family through the talent God gave me
Honestly I don’t care if you hate me
But don’t fukk with my money
Anything else I say will be dry snitching on myself, how dumb would that be
House gang
YAOWA!!!
This is classic brehs
