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Indian Carpet
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Static
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1
[Timbaland]
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Yo (yo), yo, ay yo
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Timabaland's flow infamous
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Allow me to assemble this flow with limitless style
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For all man, woman and innocent child
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I have no perimeter
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Break all barriers in various areas
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My sound is mimicked
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Track prime minister, some say sinister
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None stoppin the groove until when it's
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The climax, some niggas is bitin my hot hats
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And followed my drum pattern, but I done that
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It's time to change, get more deranged
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Feels more strange (doooodooooo)
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Follow me through gravel and shallow trees
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From mountains to flat plain, to thunder and black rain
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Through the dream state of utopia
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Woke up to the sounds of that man Timbaland
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Five Mexican bitches scopin us
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Belly dancin, sayin "hell, he's handsome" in Spanish
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We was fine until the subtitles vanished
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Then and open fire, totin opium
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Higher than I ever been in my life
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Heard cries throughout the night like
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[Chorus: Static]
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Let's get 'em started
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While they dance on, Indian Carpet
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see'mon, uh
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Niggas act retarded
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While they dance on, Indian Carpet
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see'mon, uh
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Let's get 'em started
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While they dance on, Indian Carpet
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[Timbaland]
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Ay yo, I woke up to a bowl of rice like the Golden Child
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T.V. playin like the Poltergeist, must been on overnight
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I saw a strong beam of light, decided to walk to it
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Could it be the son of Christ, I decided to talk to it
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In the halls I heard music shoutin beautiful calls
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And I swore I heard a voice say:
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It's yours my, gift to you, to do what you choose
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But I suggest you do what you do to make the spirits move
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I hear ya dude, and me bein a barrel of fruit
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But your ears heavenly, when I sit in this chair and produce
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Then my hallway darkened
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I felt a power surge rush throughout my apartment
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And the glance callin like
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[Chorus]
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[Magoo]
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Mag spit with a sense of purpose on purpose
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When you was eatin collard greens I was eatin these dreams
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I stepped in dog shit and bit Skid Row twice
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Only ice I had put it in my orange Slice
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What you know about livin in a jail when it ain't no bars
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Handcuffed with no key, world denyin your plea
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A third-degree charge when it ain't no crime
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Twenty-six years old and I got more time
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Phone overdue, baby on the way, low pay
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Low rent for your mom, gotta get away
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Smoke, hate now, then you want to talk about the ghetto
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I'm tenth generation of that, came out the womb with a hat
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Polo on and Nikes with a gold tooth
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I'm Superman, I can spit from any phone booth
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You and your cold ass crew do what you do
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Just remember Mag never feel good, I am the flu
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[Chorus]
Mann Mera [Lyrics]- Gajendra Verma
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