Click Clack

[Hook] A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard I was told only reach for the heat if you (bang) So when I lift the shirt, that's the end of discussion Click clack motherfuckers, I ain't trynna hear that [Verse 1: Nicki Minaj] They call me (Young) Nicholas, style defined as ridiculous I beg your pardon, meet me at the Garden Number one draft, I'm New York's pick and - I don't lose like them dudes, on the New York Knicks (Check it), I'm overseas, rocking hella capris - I'm in the West Indies, eatin' delicacies - I tell 'em They want Kane like Erica? Please Brotha your money young, like that nigga Jeezy These broke rappers, always rappin' 'bout a pink truck I'm only happy, when I'm hoppin' out the Brinks truck And I don't need a sixteen, I got a sentence I goes in on a fucker, like an entrance These old bitches, better change they dentures When I get in the game, they gon' play the benches Fuck your friendship, pay attention Bitch get at me? I'mma pay my henchmen [Hook] [Verse 2: Nicki Minaj] They call me Maraj,fuck you, and fuck your squad Head bitch in charge, I ain't talkin' bout the Taj I'm on the other line, I ain't talkin' bout call waitin' I'm VIP lil' mama, I just walk straight in Lil' Dolce & Gabbana got this broad hatin' That's why I pop up in the Porsche, with the top vacant Mami stop fakin', talkin' bout, what? - You got, you ain't got nathen, and you're not caking You're not my taste, get out of my face I play the top, like eight friends on your Myspace Stay in a child's place, check the timin' I rock bitches, like they throwin' up the diamonds (It's the Roc!) You on a flight, I be bakin' on islands Mami, your accent sounds faker than Dylan Murder 'dem, murder 'dem Fuck a competition, already murdered them [Hook] [Verse 3: Nicki Minaj] They call me Nicki M, hard to find me in a sticky ben I play the club with a thug, and some pretty friends (What up!?) And if they ain't got the gat, they got the knife on (Yes sir!) You're too wack, to get up on one of my songs (Whoop!) You got a deal, cause you was givin' up the coochie, prolly (Uhn!) But I'll arrange one hit, like "Oochie Wally" (Uhn!) (Gone 'til November) And you'll be gone 'til November, like Wyclef ("You'll be gone, 'til November") I hold weight and I ain't talkin' bout biceps I rep Queens like a crown, when I'm in the - Town, ask Yung Joc, "It's Goin' Down" (Yes!) Kisses to my bitches, and my niggas, get a pound June, turn me up, (Mic check!) How I sound? Bitches don't know the half, like they flunked that math Give a fuck about a bitch, and the clique she with Unless, you doin' them numbers, like arithmetic Young Nick, holla back and turn up my shit [Hook]