You Should Know

[Produced by DJ Premier] [Intro] Rock, rock, rock on Rock, rock, rock on I'm going to tell you the truth whether you like it or not Can I prove it? Yes Why no more days like those? [Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9"] Allow me to put some sense on you coons Too much success, um, here comes your doom They told you niggas the sky's the limit Then they turn around and tell you that there's footprints on the moon You rise to fame and die, so they can say that you barely won And they keep your masters, your kids become bastards Having to ask executives for their daddy records Sounding like Blind Mellow Jelly son Look in my eyes, you can tell I'm violent I might go diving inside a fine female on the Maldives island I vow to never fail my phonics until I'm real iconic And you can throw me in a cell, I got it I go to jail bout eight, go "oh well" then post bail bout nine-ish I treat that bitch like it's a hotel, check in it then check out it Then tell my niggas, let the rest doubt it These rap niggas bugged out, like divas, they drugged-out thugged-out receivers I meet them at their stash place, heat them Then tell them, they better drag race the fuck away from me Or get their mug shot, like Bieber I catch him at the bus stop, while he reading This .45 will give him the same hollow Lux got I represent, the must haves and whatnots Niggas that used to cut class, to touch cash and buck shots [Chorus: Dwele] You should know (But you don't really want nothing) You should know (Talk a bunch of shit, motherfucker stop fronting) You should know (So what you saying yo? Keep playing y'all niggas will burn) You should know (Fuck the whole world) [Verse 2: Royce Da 5'9"] Freedom or jail, clips inserted A baby's being born, same time a man is murdered The beginning and end,you on a block, playing killer with your knife Without a gun you're an option, be cut out for the game Or they're gon play rock, paper, scissors with your life I'm usually more spiritual at night Cause murder's in the air, more like a Pippen Nike Whipping white, the white American kryptonite Living a scripted life, a different kick, a different type Whoever fixing chicken rice, I'll spend the night In the morning go home to my wife, before she try and sell my shit Ninety nine percent sure, that she gon' try and smell my dick Thirsty niggas is praying to hell I slip The baddest bitches, the last bitches you would've ever imagined Would've had chlamydia, getting dragged to cities City after city, niggas paying cash for the love of ass and titties [Chorus] [Verse 3: Royce Da 5'9"] (Pick it up) I don't know why y'all so highly regarded You rhyme like you're borderline mildly retarded I show you what my father done started I rhyme on a god level, the godliest artist Y'all follow artists who target their audience But not me, I target the artist, follow the target Holding a strap, pointing it at sinners And that's when I tell them like Kobe to Shaq, "You lazy and I'm tired of your jogging" Shoot at their feet 'til the dance start,I'm going H.A.M. in the slaughterhouse Fuck you and your damn charts, and your crowd participation I'm putting a land mine under your stage, had his place raining fan parts And called that shit crowd precipitation I'm more premier, than my own DJ and Pac's brother I came out of my momma's womb, with a box cutter Lyrical spitting image, that mirrors the birth of Slim None of these rappers can work with me, I work with them [Chorus] [Outro] On the vocals You have Detroit's own Dwele Providing the instruments We have The incomparable Adrian Younge And on the wheels of steel DJ Premier Yeah (I say, and I'll say it again I'm not the kind of person who come here to say what you like)