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

They call me Nicolas, 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

Brother 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

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

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 nothing, 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

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

They call me Nicki M, hard to find me in a sticky Benz

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

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