("We gonna rock a little something like this" -- Repeat 4x) I don't wanna ill, I just wanna chill And keep my hand around a 100 dollar bill (Repeat 4x)
Sitting and thinking about the time I wrote four stacks of rhymes For dimes, made me wanna go back to doing crimes On the corner, but the street life? Hotter than a sauna So I don't think I'm gonna, plus the fact I was born to Nigga to hit the land with the mic in hand and SP and hit it like (huh) Dizzy Gillespe And this is how I do, not three or two But one nigga from Queens for the hip-hop fiends All over, gas a honey up to let me unclothe her And this time around check how I get down As I go the extra mile, raised in Carlyle Born up in Harlem, ever since been destined for stardem So move over bacon, it's the anti-faking Beatmaking nigga that makes the Earth quake and Let the man push through, others are left without a clue Large Professor in the house one two
I don't wanna ill, I just wanna chill And keep my hand around a 100 dollar bill (Repeat 4x)
About as deadly as a nine, hit a rock man kind Like a landmine with the ill shit that I design Professor, keeping sucker chump crews under pressure Like this girl I know, but yo, I can't stress her Cause I'm cool like that, matter fact even cooler Opposite of sun ruler, having nothing to do with Arula and Keena You can catch me joyriding on Cocina As I keep the compotition mind up in between a Rock and a hard place, and just like a car chase I'm action packed with the drama of Scarface I'm real, honey'll hit me off with a meal And I'm out so I can get me a stout, what's it all about? Trying to stack off a contract, Jack And stay black, as long as I can keep that intact Ain't a damn thing stopping the one that keep ya hopping Do you wonder what I'm dropping?
I don't wanna ill, I just wanna chill And keep my hand around a 100 dollar bill (Repeat 4x)
So strap up for the return of the brother that earn Props, but this time, I got to get more burn, hops So record company man, please give me a push So I can swing to higher levels of life like a kids and wife And I'll deliver, for a while I didn't give a Frustrated for fucking with the snakes that slither But nevertheless, in 3-D's Large Profess With what I would call a bullshit-proof vest And yes, I make the beats you could feel in your chest And write the rhymes that reflect a young man blessed With the mind and motivation hitting your station Coming back to attack off a ghetto vacation For the hip-hop nation I don't wanna ill
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