B.o.B - Fan Mail lyrics
[B.o.B - Fan Mail lyrics]
What's up with this faggot?
Fuck is with this nigga?
Why is he still rapping?
He even wears the fashion
Should've stuck to makin'
Pop commercial smashes seriously
That's why people don't take you seriously
That's why we don't wanna
Hear nothin' you say
'Cause you ain't the man that
You appear to be no, nigga, seriously
We don't wanna hear your conspiracies
And we don't wanna hear your
Political views 'bout
Extraterrestrial activity
Look, nigga, make up your mind
How much longer you gon' wait to decide?
You was kickin' some dangerous lines
Now buyin' your shit a waste of my time
Nigga, what's up with you?
That's why all my niggas don't fuck with you
And that's why we don't come
To your after parties
'Cause we don't wanna hang in
The club with you
It's only two type of niggas
A street nigga and a you type of nigga
A coon type of nigga
Prolly born with a new silver
Spoon type of nigga a new type of nigga
A sell out surrounded by wealth
You should've been one of the greats
Now you just sound like everyone else
Hello?
Bob, what are you doin'? What are you doin'?
You losin' your core
Fan base and your viewers
Let me show you how to flow
Show you how to make music
Obviously you clueless, how I know? 'Cause
I'm Jewish
Oh, is that unruly? For me to say so rudely?
What if I stand on trial? What
If I stand on jury? What are we on TV? Who's
The judge? Judge Judy?
What am I supposed to return
All these cars and jewelry?
Like I don't even know how
The flow supposed to go
Like I don't even know how
The show supposed to flow
Like I don't even know how
The beat supposed to sound
Like I don't even know where
The notes supposed to go
Like I don't even know how
My soul's supposed to feel
Like I ain't supposed to win
Like I ain't supposed to glow
But, you'll never understand the
Way that I think if you ain't grow up where
They sold dope before
Oh, number one draft pick
Number one draft pick
Oh, he's nice for a black guy, oh
He's smart for a rapper
Oh, that's who he's with? Oh
She's cute for a black chick
Oh, he's actually cool
I went to school with him actually
Actually, he could've had a masterpiece
Now it's just a fuckin' catastrophe
Anyway, get Fitz on the phone
Tell him send it over to mastering
Fuck is with this nigga?
Why is he still rapping?
He even wears the fashion
Should've stuck to makin'
Pop commercial smashes seriously
That's why people don't take you seriously
That's why we don't wanna
Hear nothin' you say
'Cause you ain't the man that
You appear to be no, nigga, seriously
We don't wanna hear your conspiracies
And we don't wanna hear your
Political views 'bout
Extraterrestrial activity
Look, nigga, make up your mind
How much longer you gon' wait to decide?
You was kickin' some dangerous lines
Now buyin' your shit a waste of my time
Nigga, what's up with you?
That's why all my niggas don't fuck with you
And that's why we don't come
To your after parties
'Cause we don't wanna hang in
The club with you
It's only two type of niggas
A street nigga and a you type of nigga
A coon type of nigga
Prolly born with a new silver
Spoon type of nigga a new type of nigga
A sell out surrounded by wealth
You should've been one of the greats
Now you just sound like everyone else
Hello?
Bob, what are you doin'? What are you doin'?
You losin' your core
Fan base and your viewers
Let me show you how to flow
Show you how to make music
Obviously you clueless, how I know? 'Cause
I'm Jewish
Oh, is that unruly? For me to say so rudely?
What if I stand on trial? What
If I stand on jury? What are we on TV? Who's
The judge? Judge Judy?
What am I supposed to return
All these cars and jewelry?
Like I don't even know how
The flow supposed to go
Like I don't even know how
The show supposed to flow
Like I don't even know how
The beat supposed to sound
Like I don't even know where
The notes supposed to go
Like I don't even know how
My soul's supposed to feel
Like I ain't supposed to win
Like I ain't supposed to glow
But, you'll never understand the
Way that I think if you ain't grow up where
They sold dope before
Oh, number one draft pick
Number one draft pick
Oh, he's nice for a black guy, oh
He's smart for a rapper
Oh, that's who he's with? Oh
She's cute for a black chick
Oh, he's actually cool
I went to school with him actually
Actually, he could've had a masterpiece
Now it's just a fuckin' catastrophe
Anyway, get Fitz on the phone
Tell him send it over to mastering