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    [Lauryn][Method Man]
    Yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah
    Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah
    Yeah (Yeah)
    Yeah yeah (Yo)

    [Method Man]
    Damn, I hate it when it rain
    Ever since I came in the game
    Some hated on the fame
    A lot of niggas done changed
    And started actin' strange
    Even labels turning they backs
    And started backing lames
    Radio is the same, whole lotta speculatin'
    These mutherfuckas defacatin' on the name
    Wu-Tang, if this is where the hip-hop is
    Radio lyin' then, that ain't where hip-hop live
    It lives in the streets, we eat to live they livin' to eat
    I'm fed up, that nigga rides in 'em, givin 'em sleep
    R.I.P., make me the king of all I see
    And when death call I'm good I got call ID
    See it was planned in the front, now they just gon' front
    Like my joints is on proactive, and they just don't bump
    Then niggas gon' say I lost my skill
    when in fact they all been programmed
    And lost they feel, fo' real

    Chorus: [Lauryn](Method Man]
    They've got so much things to say right now
    They've got so much things to say
    They've got so much things to say right now (Yeah)
    They got so much things to say (Yo)

    [Method Man]
    Damn, another artist chokes again
    They ain't cut as close as him or even broke the skin
    See how niggas ain't yo friends, when there ain't no ends
    Don't care who the case offend, don't underrate my pen
    I got what it takes to win, while ya'll are thinking I'm trash
    Loving the taste of success and this drink in my glass
    Watch 'em cosign that whack shit, give it a pass till it's gone
    Quicker than Red, can't get rid of them clubs
    When they're wrong, call the cops, they credibility's shot
    It's time to learn, what hot really is and really is not
    Off brain niggas, Meth gonna let 'em know off top
    Don't get smacked on dvds, trying to show off blocks
    I can't stop cause my enemies plot, or cause the cops want me
    Shackled and locked inside the penalty box
    And while they waitin' for my shit to flop
    They gettin' pimped like hoes
    Sellin' they ass just to get my spot, come on man

    Repeat Chorus

    Ask Miss Hill, half these critics ain't got half this skill
    Often so hungry that they have to steal
    If I didn't have my deal, and didn't have this mass appeal
    Then I'm back up in that trap, swingin' crack it's real
    And that ain't worth the time, so search and find a new nerve
    And here's three words: stop working mine
    It take a lot more to hurt my pride
    Jerk my vibe more than media lies, cry when dirt dog die nigga
    The last album wasn't feeling my style
    This time my foot up in they ass but they feelin' me now
    Cause ???, he put his heart in every track he do
    But somehow yall find someway to give a whack review
    It ain't all good, they writin' that I'm Hollywood
    Tryin' to tell you my shit ain't ghetto and they hardly hood
    Come on man, until you dudes can write some rhymes
    Keep that in mind when you find yourself reciting mines

    Repeat Chorus

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    Todas as letras de Lauryn Hill

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