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PERFORMING ARTISTS
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Vocals
Steve Wyreman
Steve Wyreman
Guitar
Nate Mercereau
Nate Mercereau
Guitar
The-Dream
The-Dream
Vocals
Quarteto 1111
Quarteto 1111
Sampled Artist
Ron Gilmore, Jr.
Ron Gilmore, Jr.
Vocoder
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Shawn Carter
Shawn Carter
Songwriter
José Cid
José Cid
Songwriter
TóZé Brito
TóZé Brito
Songwriter
Dion Wilson
Dion Wilson
Songwriter
Terius The-Dream Nash
Terius The-Dream Nash
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
No ID
No ID
Producer
Gimel "Young Guru" Keaton
Gimel "Young Guru" Keaton
Recording Engineer
Mike Miller
Mike Miller
Recording Engineer
Jimmy Douglass
Jimmy Douglass
Mixing Engineer
Dave Kutch
Dave Kutch
Mastering Engineer

Texty

Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant The livest one representin' BK to the fullest Bastards duckin' when Hov be buckin' Chicken-heads be cluckin' Uh, back when ratchet was a ratchet and a vixen was a vixen And Jam Master Jay was alive I was mixin' Cookin' coke in the kitchen Back when Rodman was a Piston Mike was losin' to Isiah, but he soon would get his sixth one Gave birth to my verbal imagination Assume a virtue if you have not Or better yet here's a verse from Hamlet Lord, we know who we are Yet we know not what we may be So maybe I'm the one or maybe I'm crazy I'm from Marcy Houses, where the boys die by the thousand Back when Pam was on Martin Yeah, that's where it all started When Denzel was blottin' carpet, I'll pack a, nine millimeter When Slick Rick made Mona Lisa When Lisa Bonet was Beyoncé of her day, I had divas, y'all Think I just popped up in this bitch like a fetus? Nah Pregnant pause, give you some second thoughts There's room on the bandwagon, don't abort Marcy me Marcy me Streets is my artery, the vein of my existence I'm the Gotham City heartbeat I started in lobbies, now parley with Saudis I'm a Sufi to goofies, I could prolly speak Farsi That's poetry, reek of coca leaf in my past Came through the bushes smellin' like roses I need a trophy just for that Old Brooklyn, not this new shit, shit feel like a spoof Fat laces in your shoe, I'm talkin' bustin' off the roof Hold a Uzi vertical, let the thing smoke Y'all flirtin' with death, I be winkin' through the scope Shout out to all the murderers turned murals Plural, fuck the Federal Bureau Shout out to Nostrand Ave., Flushing Ave., Myrtle All the County of Kings, may your ground stay fertile Shout out to Big Poppa, Daddy Kane, heroes Thus concludin' my concerto Marcy me Must be in the air Oh, can't walk away, I know, I know Just the way I'm raised I know, I know, I know Oh Marcy, Marcy me Just the way I am always gonna be I ain't gonna change, no Marcy, Marcy me, just the way I am I ain't gonna change, no I ain't gonna change, no (Como hás nome, cavaleiro?) Couldn't change me if I wanted to (Eu hei nome Todo o Mundo) You couldn't change me if you wanted to (E meu tempo) I'ma take this with me to the Moon
Writer(s): Dion Wilson, José Cid, Shawn Carter, Terius Nash, Tozé Brito Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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