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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Lead Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Bobby Byrd
Bobby Byrd
Songwriter
Shawn Carter
Shawn Carter
Songwriter
J. Smith
J. Smith
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Just Blaze
Just Blaze
Producer
Gimel "Young Guru" Keaton
Gimel "Young Guru" Keaton
Recording Engineer
Shane "Bermuda" Woodley
Shane "Bermuda" Woodley
Assistant Recording Engineer
Jason Goldstein
Jason Goldstein
Mixing Engineer
Tony Dawsey
Tony Dawsey
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Turn my music high, high, high, higher You don't know what you're doin'— doin'— doin'— Sure I do I'm from the streets where the hood could swallow 'em and Bullets'll follow 'em and There's so much coke that you could run the slalom And cops comb the shit top to bottom They say that we are prone to violence, but it's home sweet home Where personalities clash and chrome meets chrome The coke prices up and down like it's Wall Street, holmes But this is worse than the Dow Jones, your brains are now blown All over that brown Brougham, one slip, you are now gone Welcome to Hell, where you are welcome to sell But when them shells come, you better return 'em All scars, we earn 'em All cars, we learn 'em like the back of our hand We watch for cops hoppin' out the back of vans Wear a G on my chest, I don't need Dapper Dan This ain't a sewn outfit, holmes, holmes is about it Was clappin' them flamers before I became famous For playin' me, y'all shall forever remain nameless I am Hov You don't know what you're doin'— doin'— doin'— Sure I do I tell you the difference between me and them They tryin' to get they ones, I'm tryin' to get them M's One million, two million, three million, four In just five years, forty million more You are now lookin' at the forty million boy I'm rapin' Def Jam 'til I'm the hundred million man R-O-C You don't know what you're doin'— doin'— doin'— That's where you're wrong I came into this motherfucker hundred grand strong Nine to be exact, from grindin' G-packs Put this shit in motion, ain't no rewindin' me back Could make 40 off a brick, but one rhyme could beat that And if somebody woulda told 'em that Hov' would sell clothin' Not in this lifetime, wasn't in my right mind That's another difference that's between me and them, hah I smarten up, open the market up One million, two million, three million, four In eighteen months, eighty million more Now add that number up with the one I said before You are now lookin' at one smart black boy Mama ain't raised no fool Put me anywhere on God's green Earth, I'll triple my worth, motherfucker I will not lose You don't know what you're doin'— doin'— doin'— Put somethin' on it I sell ice in the winter, I sell fire in Hell I am a hustler, baby, I'll sell water to a whale I was born to get cake, move on and switch states Cop the coupe with the roof gone and switch plates Was born to dictate, never follow orders, dick face Get your shit straight, fucker, this is Big Jay I— hahahaha You don't know what you're doin'— doin'— doin'— Will not lose, ever Fucker
Writer(s): Bobby Byrd, Shawn Carter Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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