8Ball, MJG - Reason For Rhyme lyrics

I'm MJG, the nigga with the versatile style
Check your calendar realize that I
Been here for awhile
When I was young I took the soul
Up out of rhythm and blues
When hip hop originated slowly paid my dues
And take my shoes
And try to walk a mile in my past
Without them salt shaker sheisters tryin
To get in that ass it's been too long
You motherfuckers fittin to feel the south
Shut your mouth
Shut your do you little freak ass ho
I'm bout tired of all this damn
East and west coast shit
Especially when other niggas tryin to
Work in this bitch
I paid my dues to the fullest
Worked to god damn hard
For you too kill the industry and
Leave me out of a job


You niggas strain yourself
To maintain yourself
And now you playin with enough
Rope to actually hang yourself
But, you don't care, hell
You constantly fallin deep in the plot
Mesmerized from all the bitches and
The money you got
You must of forgot they said that
Rap would never last ten years
And if your selfish to the fact
I'm tryin to have a career
Now listen here, what do we have
We got probable cause
To keep the pen on the paper
And the Glock in your drawers, nigga

Remember back when we used to
Do this shit for fun
Bein the dopest on my block
Made me ranked number one no gun
Just a pen and notebook paper by the sheet
In the crib
Gettin funky off the next nigga beat
No electronics to make the shit
That I wrote the chronic
Shit sick enough to bring
Vomit from your stomach quick as a comet
Shield your eyes from the UV
Groovey, like a nigga from a Batman movie
Real about the shit that I
Express over dope beats
You can't say it was fake unless
You grew up on my street
Concrete head niggas, runnin from FED niggas
Po' ass scared niggas
That came out dead niggas
And all I ever wanted to be was an emcee
Did a little dirt and found it wasn't for me
Poetry flowin through my bloodstream
Like a drug i'm addicted to rhyme because
I love the buzz, nigga

My reason for rhyme
Because I'm true to this rap
My reason for rhyme
Because I'm real with this rap
My reason for rhyme
It ain't all about the cheese
Even though fat lp's can make a nigga g's

My reason for rhymin, while I'm in
A position to be tellin
It's not about the fame and
Them bitches who be yellin
At my concerts, one verse, dicks up
Quick fuck
Lies start spreadin now you tangled
In a mix up i git's up, do sit's up
And squeeze my mental mindrame back in order
And use my hand as a tape recorder
Jottin down all the information placed
In front of me the good time, the bad time
The way I think it oughta be
Now follow G, can you comprehend?
If you can then drink a shot of Hen
Hit this hand on your silver end
Friends don't be friends and
Foes don't be foes
However the way you bring it
That's how you want it, i suppose
I can stay up out the game
Keep my aim on my paper
And I'll be sure to keep my
Pimpin real with Tony Draper
And I'll potray the man that I'm known to be
Dim the lights (Hip-tie) for the MJG

Give me a crowd of wild niggas
Who love real hip hop
And watched smoke get soaked up
Like water in a mop
Drop presidents among me and my own folk
And let that bullshit walk among
The past with ghosts
Ain't no hope of bein takin seriously
When limited avenues are given to me
So, naturally I take shit and make shit mine
Jackin only for position in
This thing called rhyme
Freestyle, not great
But if you wait for a second
I could write some shit down that
Could get a gold record
Thought about not the first thing
That I think about
MJG and Eightball and hard is
How we comin out runnin out
Niggas who can't hold on like En Vogue
Even though I moved out the
Mound I'm still ten toed
Down for the shit I do, the Suave House crew
True to this shit
Because this shit is so true