Ab-Soul - Run Tha Show lyrics

I run the game (I run the game)
I run the show (Stop that)
When the curtain open
They be yelling Ab-soul (Go 'head)
And if you didn't (Know what?)
Then now you know (What's up?)
Asshole, Ab-Soul kick up flow i got you

Back by popular demand, it's your man
Dot, tell them what I am -
(You's a motherfucking scoundrel)
Villainous, I don't care if you sensitive
I'm different - my only proof
Of birth's a death certificate
Brain like a fried egg, dick long as my leg
I don't give a fuck though
But I love having sex hit my weed man up
Told me all he had was stress
Rock, ask DT how he wanna handle this
Now I'm in the Nickersons but I
Ain't got no business here


Cause I could get killed cause of the
Colors on the shit I wear fuck it though
I'm in this bitch - acting all hard
But watch me turn impotent as soon
As niggas trip and shit
I only got one life and
Nigga I ain't risking it
I'll probably catch cancer by twenty-six
Smoke like a burning building
Never choke and if I do
That's that killa, meaning
Nigga that'll murder you
That's the fire on my chest dude
"Ab-Soul you smoke too much
How it affect you?"
One time, I got so high up in the sky
That I ran a couple laps then
Took a nap in the restroom
Get it? I took a nap in the restroom
I'm in the laboratory
Sipping vodka out a test tube
And if anybody wanna throw shots
Or leave flesh wounds
Tell 'em I'll be in the
Streets with my cleats


Show-stopper, Carson globetrotter
Rhyme like popping a Glock
Get low like Flo-Rida
You know that nigga Soul keep
One in the chamber
Motherfuck a judge though
There's no justice for brothers
My nigga B Slim in the pen like permanent ink
And like my first LP
I'm waiting on his release
Machete sharp on you niggas every sixteen
I should charge per bar like
A store that sell dumbbells
I ain't finna kiss the bride
But I'm finna unveil the truth
Niggas be trash like junk mail in the booth
After who? Y'all know that
So I think I'm wasting a
Gift if y'all gon' rap
Am I the shit? Read my black ass lips
Like confessions of video vixens
We all wanna hit
Kick it like a creative recreation
On some everyday shit
And I don't even own a pair
But it's fair to say I

Hit you up like Pac
Then when you get to heaven
Ask Biggie who shot you
I pity you rap dudes, you niggas in my way
You're talking to the father
Don't play Marvin Gaye better yet
I'm the author-slash martyr with
A probable cause
To ball harder than Coach Carter starters
Pack more green than the team that
Gave the boot to Brett Favre
And you could hear the horror in my aura
Monster, like the one under your bed
Say your prayers 'fore I shed
Through your epidermal layer
With intentions to hurt you like
A technical foul player
Even in a scrimmage I make you hemorrhage
I got a scheme to get richer than
Movie screen depictions of Bruce Wayne
No bats, just game in fact
You niggas wanna know why you're lame?
I gets more fly, you stay plain
How 'bout that?
More figures than your calculator could count
I got more flavor than
Garlic on niggas' recording
I hate y'all, I'm sick of rap
Punch, hit the space bar

Largo termino long term, bitches
If you can compare yourself to anybody else
In hip-hop who would it be?
And this is not comparing them
To be side by side
This is somebody that you see
Great music inside them
And every time you hear them it makes
You wanna work on your craft
Man, really I mean, I mean K Dot man
That nigga's a monster k Dot?
That nigga's a monster
Uh, he's probably the only rapper still that
Gives me the chills at this point
Aside from like Hov or someone like that