I look good don’t I?
CHORUS:
I look good don’t I?
Well, I feel good I won’t lie
Like Silence Dogood
I been exposing lies and can’t be silenced
I’m so fly man, my home is in the sky
I can’t even hurt a fly
I create exemplary styles, I’m so mandatory
Spending most of my time improving in solitary, writing my story
Using my heart for victory, just narrating history
Now everywhere I go they say, Mansion, just blow kid, like a bomb or Pro Kid
I’m the bomb you know kid, ‘cause I’m hot, you won’t keep me
for long on the same spot ,like Mercury
And now I’m fly for all the times that I had suicidal thoughts fooling me
to think that I’m that which I’m not is stupid
I’m showing love like I been ravaged by a cupid
again and again
Like David I’d make a cool king fighting bigger men
Younger than Dexter in his lab, though Didi says I’m the only man
who did it like I did, that’s why my haters feeling mad that I’m alive and kicking
Foes, damn it man, I won’t run out of this skill, so just kill me
Before the bigger boys used to pick me and look down on me like I was a pygmy
Then I got bold and fly, so I’m picky with girlfriends
What else? I grew tall like the Eifel tower in France
What else? When the blonde girls see me they fall in some trance
My home is in the sky and clouds happen to be my mattress
Chicks looking for me, up in the sky, homie
And eagles tell you that I’m flying high above the clouds
See me like a shooting star settling your doubts
Ah, I’m on fire, I won’t tire
And the speed I’m travelling at burns tires
Never expire, rather I inspire these kids to aspire
And fly higher and higher, look
CHORUS
Retire – that’s what them other rappers did since I got here
I started my own fast lane so unique and rare
Like Peter Pan I had no parents to give me care
And whenever I needed cash I had no Tinker Bell
I used my fingers to snatch purses and stole wallets
I had to get it no less and so relaxed
He had to change his ways though he wasn’t being himself
And disappeared for a while and I returned a champ like Ali
Now these women kneel on me, like Coriolanus haters yelling alas
Michael Jackson stranger in Moscow still got guts
The popos think my attitude really stinks, I grew up poor
While the doctors say I’m more ill than most patients they saw
I’m gone, like a thousand fly dudes in one pair of boots, in codes flowing in parables
Pouring honeys in pools and then fed my poor people and left basketfuls
I look so good man, jet pack, it’s like I’m flying with no parachute man, get that
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