[Intro: Kanye West]
Heavy Hitters fo' life
Heavy Hitters fo' life
Mm, mm
Mm-mm
[Verse 1: Kanye West]
You rappers think I give a fuck about the way that they spit
Wanna be on my album, but don't want me on they shit
Everybody thought I was making a compilation
I was really making myself they compe-tation
Fresh off the plane from the All-Star Game
Bonin' girls on TV, so it's all-star trains
Just picture, mane (Uh-huh), no snitchin', mane (Uh-uh)
Something for the fiends, fresh out the kitchen, man
Last 9/11, I was poor on the ave', 'til I pluraled my math
Now it's Porsche 911 and I'm flooring the gas (Errr!)
Got a lot of problems, money's one that I not have (No more, ugh)
"Well, Dame look at how everybody changed"
"Tell Jay that I'm 'bout to change the game"
"Tell Biggs that we about to get paid"
"All my niggas is 'bout to have it made"
"This makes everything else sound played"
"Goddamn, Kanye!" ("Kanye! Kanye!")
Now hold up! Ain't nobody messing with me, dog
Now, you say it! ("Ain't nobody messin' with you at all!")
I told dude, "You can't even rap on my interlude"
Now, does that make me as rude as Jude?
("When the album coming out?") Man, the people is asking
"Yamamoto, Adidas, he's sick with the fashion
You already got dough, so you spit for the passion (Ugh)
The way you rhyme give me Tribe Called Quest flashbacks
And let's not even bring up the tracks, man
Nope, nope, let's not do that, man
You eating up the game like Pac-Man
And got the whole world shaking just like crack fiends"
[Chorus: Kanye West]
Heavy Hitters, fo' life (Woo!)
Roc-a-Fella is fo' life
Throw your diamonds up, throw your diamonds up
Throw your diamonds (Just let the beat ride out for a minute)
[Interlude: GLC & Kanye West]
Let's take it there, take it there, man
Champ 'posed to be, GLC
Can't be the champ, you ugly
GLC, where you at homie?
[Verse 2: GLC]
How many niggas you know done put their life on the line
To get signed? Did a few high crimes, almost had lights-out
After the sunshine, you thinking it might count
How could I might doubt? Just look at my account
I used to work at the mall with nothing at all,
Seeing niggas that ball – that shit was depressing
Keep my clothes in the cleaners, I ain't with the pressing
When I copped them pounds, it was my best investments
Dre got shot (Aww) and that taught me a lesson
For stickin' niggas up in them robbery masses
Masked like Batman, minus the tight pants
Would hit your baby momma, but her elbows is ashy (Uh-uh)
Four different blues, man, your outfit is clashing (Ha!)
You ain't got no muscles–you weak, lame bastard (Haha)
Man, look at your haircut
Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, naw, your hair sucks!
How many niggas you know is really heavy hitters?
'87 Go-Getters, two hoes like John Ritter
Even did it on his prom picture and yeah (Ugh, ugh, ugh)
And offers to sell and yell, ugh
[Chorus: Kanye West]
Heavy Hitters fo' life
Roc-A-Fella is fo' life
Throw your diamonds up, throw your diamonds up
Throw your diamonds
[Outro: Rude Jude]
Yo, what up?
This is Rude motherfuckin' Jude
A.K.A. "The Tapioca Stroker"
A.K.A. "The J-Man"
A.K.A. "Rascal Lovato"
A.K.A. "That guy"
Think about it
Now I... I'm over here, chillin' with Kanye
'Cause we got a lot in common, you know what I'm sayin'?
He got a unique style, I got a style of my own
I've been listening to the radio and shit
And I've been hearing a lot of high pitch singy songs on the background
I'm like, "Yo, yo, Kanye, that's your shit? That's your shit??"
He's like, "Nah, dawg"
So you, you don't gotta be a mathematician
Or a muhfucking marine biologist to figure this shit out
Motherfuckers is bitin'
So please, do yourself, and everybody else, a favor
Take that style that you had
Put it in an UPS package and send it back to Kanye's house
'Cause he want his style back
