Lyrics Jeff N Fess feat. Rhymefest - DJ Jazzy Jeff feat. Rhymefest

Come on ("Yes, yes, y'all")
That's right ("Yes, yes, y'all")
We back ("Yes, yes, y'all")
Now over here, we got Jeff ("Yes, yes, y'all")
And over there, you got Fess ("Yes, yes, y'all")
Niggas know we be the best ("Yes, yes, y'all")
Where the Fresh at? ("Yes, yes, y'all")
That black nigga that they call Fess
With the city on the back and the world on my chest
You girls know my nest, this the best of the best
Motherfuckers can't breathe when I'm standin' on they neck
Niggas can't get paid, I got my hands on they check
When down south is right, then I wanna go (Left)
I ain't talkin' bout them dope boys or niggas in trap
Outkast and T.I. cause 'em dudes can rap (Ay, ay, ay)
But the hood that had enough
See my niggas in cuffs
Take to XXL and step your rap game up
I realize that the words that I say
And you down, buttin' around, so your momma raised a coward
Radio to pass out, drunk off of they own power, like
Hitler, Saddam, George Bush and Caesar
But if you don't care to fuck it, I don't either
Any track I moved on, get bruised on
Fuck a pepperoni, what you want on your Tombstone
Like a werewolf when the moon's on
It's like havin' a high power with no iTunes song
Please don't tempt me
I'm so hot, missiles can sense me
Niggas diein' everyday, it don't make sense, G
Droppin' off of poverty
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
Now I suggest, you take a rest, 'fore I put one in your chest
It would move you and lose you
Don't need to think about
Your girlfriend licked and liked me
(?) callin' on wifey
A conscious rapper, I just might be
Or drink or find hoes, this my Miami Vice, G
Niggas in the Bay, calling me hyphy
Philly cats say I'm a (?), my (?) was sheisty
People eyes is shifty, they smile so nicely
Niggas walk behind my back and shake my hand politely (Hey)
Man, you almost made me think that you liked me
You did the wrong thing, I'm like, "God damn, Spike Lee!"
And even though my neck ain't icey
You dudes in my hair is Pisces
The jewels at my labels, they like me
Chicago know that I'm tight, G
West coast support Fess, down south hype me
You can set yourself on fire
They be like, "Ah, son, he alright, B"
I think they mean they like me
Oh I Think They Like Me
Oh I, oh I, Oh I Think They Like Me
I grab the mic, he punch the MPC
He's The DJ, I'm The Rapper, look
Nod Ya Head to the factor
2006, the year of the real rapper
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
Think for a moment, okay
That the shit ain't fun, no radio play
A hundred thousand, make a million, hit the road and be straight
Or bet your money in some overlous state
And we can get this tape
Roll up in a cutlass clean
This must be green, I must be seen
Next time that I step on the set, just know
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")
"Yes, yes, y'all" ("Go off, man, go off")