Lyrics to No More
I used to be a bum ass nigga, I'm not no more
I used to be a quitter, I'm not no more
So damn bitter, I'm not no more
Not no more, oh no-no
6 in the mornin' I get up, for guap-pa-pa
Luxury cars and the gara-rage
Christian Dior for the fa-fa-ra-fah, fah, fah
Make the numbers go:
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, ra
I, make the numbers go
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, ra (I, I)
Eish, I was even broke in December
Couldn't bring girls to the crib
If they see the way I live then I might just be a virgin forever
But me I was clever
Used to tell the hoes that my friend was my brother but his mother was my step one
'Cause his place was better
No tape on the windows
The couch real leather
And they had a helper
"How come I don't see you on the wall?" they would ask me
"You're the only one that's not tall in your family?"
God blessed me in other places
And frankly there's nothin' I can do about the cards that he hands me
So skip the chatter, I got somethin' to show you
Climb into this bed, let me bend and fold you
You already know how that story ends
I'm so much better than the old me when
I used to be a bum ass nigga, I'm not no more
I used to be a quitter, I'm not no more
So damn bitter, I'm not no more
Not no more, oh no-no
6 in the mornin' I get up, for guap-pa-pa
Luxury cars and the gara-rage
Christian Dior for the fa-fa-ra-fah, fah, fah
Make the numbers go:
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, ra
I, make the numbers go
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, (Yeah) ra (I, I)
I'm kinda up right now and it's a blessing man
You couldn't make me feel like I'm any less a man
You see the passport tatted like a Mexican
How could you second guess the man?
Bitch, you must be on coke tryna skip me like a Pepsi can
I got songs for a nigga at his desk to jam
For a nigga with a rope around his neck to jam
That's why they ride for me like a Manchester fan
For the bitches that just wanna pop X and dance
Savin' up to get their chest enhanced
I even got the slow jam heaters for my cheaters
Who just wanna call their girl for a second chance
But, fuck the chatter I got somethin' to show you
So when I get my Grammy I can tell you "I told you"
And only God knows how my story ends
But I'm so much better than the old me when
I used to be a quitter, I'm not no more
So damn bitter, I'm not no more
Not no more, oh no-no
6 in the mornin' I get up, for guap-pa-pa
Luxury cars and the gara-rage
Christian Dior for the fa-fa-ra-fah, fah, fah
Make the numbers go:
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, ra
I, make the numbers go
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, ra (I, I)
Eish, I was even broke in December
Couldn't bring girls to the crib
If they see the way I live then I might just be a virgin forever
But me I was clever
Used to tell the hoes that my friend was my brother but his mother was my step one
'Cause his place was better
No tape on the windows
The couch real leather
And they had a helper
"How come I don't see you on the wall?" they would ask me
"You're the only one that's not tall in your family?"
God blessed me in other places
And frankly there's nothin' I can do about the cards that he hands me
So skip the chatter, I got somethin' to show you
Climb into this bed, let me bend and fold you
You already know how that story ends
I'm so much better than the old me when
I used to be a bum ass nigga, I'm not no more
I used to be a quitter, I'm not no more
So damn bitter, I'm not no more
Not no more, oh no-no
6 in the mornin' I get up, for guap-pa-pa
Luxury cars and the gara-rage
Christian Dior for the fa-fa-ra-fah, fah, fah
Make the numbers go:
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, ra
I, make the numbers go
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata
Rata-tata-tata-tata, (Yeah) ra (I, I)
I'm kinda up right now and it's a blessing man
You couldn't make me feel like I'm any less a man
You see the passport tatted like a Mexican
How could you second guess the man?
Bitch, you must be on coke tryna skip me like a Pepsi can
I got songs for a nigga at his desk to jam
For a nigga with a rope around his neck to jam
That's why they ride for me like a Manchester fan
For the bitches that just wanna pop X and dance
Savin' up to get their chest enhanced
I even got the slow jam heaters for my cheaters
Who just wanna call their girl for a second chance
But, fuck the chatter I got somethin' to show you
So when I get my Grammy I can tell you "I told you"
And only God knows how my story ends
But I'm so much better than the old me when
