Say Something

[Intro: Lupe Fiasco] Ugh We just gonna keep it going and going Until I feel completed and happy about it, you know? Ugh [Verse: Lupe Fiasco] Opus of a ghetto boy who grew into a project man Brewster Place, he used to stick his scissors in his sockets—damn Clear that project runway, 'cause this is where my rocket lands Ain’t got no problems, Houston—I A.K.A. then rocket-land Events recent that lit a fire under him like pots and pans Rockets and I up in the sky, like helicopter cams And you down there in the traffic jam From here, I’ve seen a bunch of fake shit like avid wrassling fans Came up from the bottom of the eye exam—zoom! Now, I’m like the biggest G up in the room Still hard to see me like the truth on TV Or the roof from the sidewalk; I don’t flow, I ceiling My mama said they need me 'Cause I’m made from the best stuff on earth, like Snapple Tea Leaves They glass is half full, so I spit into them like Celie No longer G—now, you can see me But your letter's still under my sea, like seaweed C and G but nothing 'bout me C-G It’s all real—none of this is green screen "Shut Up and Let Me Go" just like The Ting Tings I’m feeling like a Mac standing around a bunch of PCs I’ve rocked it from the shottas to the soccer moms Try to stop what’s going on You’ll see the back of my hand like the tops of palms I’m balling like the tops of Palms Circle of influence getting bigger like the ripples on the tops of ponds Sure-footed and war-headed like the tops of bombs Dominoing niggas; delivery is Papa John's Little Caesar's of burning down your Pizza Huts Plaque collection building 'cause I don’t brush my teeth enough, yeah Yeah, crack is wack and reefer sucks You might think this deep as fuck, but this is like my weaker stuff They ask, "Is this his day-to-day? 'cause this is like a week to us" Mic is shy and speakers blush I is shy and he is up; I correct—me is up No we is up, 'cause it's like two of me And each of us rapping acid—eat this up A-Town down, peace is up New York to East Coast is cuffed; westside riding Lot of niggas' salty 'cause, 'cause I be overseas and tough Everything seamless, WorldStar never seen this NahRight gotta stream this, motherfucking genius Brave and fly; you backbone-less and wingless Bunch of chickens on the strip—I’m coming for they fingers 'Til what they throwing up is meaningless Chilly Chill, you seeing this? This didn’t make MTV’s list Finish fingers, eating wrist, feeding frenzy and shit Succotash-suffering, chicken fricasseeing this A beat-eating media blitz, pace is getting feverish Pain is growing Seaver-ish, these the peppers Peter picked Things are at their easiest, real Compton-city-G’ing it But I’m from Chicago—house lights, bravos [Outro] (*Applause*) Yeah I'm just playing Internet, check Check, check, check, check