You Troy, I'mma come on the rhythm
With a little communism
Chick-a chick-a I'm
Chick-a chick-a on
Chick-a chick-a my
My, own shit
Like an entrepreneur, that stepped in manure
Man I'm newer than a Jack I went up the hill with Jill
And Jack Jill's big bootay
We did the booty up, I told the Bitch she Betta Have My Money
Or step to the AMG
You know Com Sense, oh yeah him be
That nigga that be making all the bid-by-by-bye sounds
But since then, Common calm down!
I'm on some calm shit watch Com get complicated
Simple motherfuckers say the way that Com communicated
Was too complex, I got a complex not to complain
On my brain no complain and so will my community
And I prefer compliments
So I complement at an angle, of ninety degrees
It's the nineties, and music got known for the grease
I got a sense of direction and a compass
Com passed emcees with no compassion, though I heard the screams of
But I ain't shy, so why shall I comfort?
Com should have been at the fort with Jeff I'm so ill
But I chilled in my compartment with no company and no meals
Now Com could get the penny, but I want my own company
And Com is on a mission not to work for commission
It's a common market and it's so much competition
But to me, competition is none
To my comp I'm a ton I get amped like Watts in a riot
My compact disc is a commodity, so buy it
Instead of competing with Pete
Com compromised, Com made a promise
Not to commercialize, but compound the soul
With other elements, compelling sense into Communism
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
