Text písně Ain't No

I keep you fresher than the next bitch, no need
For you to ever sweat the next bitch, with speed
I make the best bitch see the exit, indeed
You gotta know ya thoroughly respected, by me
You get the keys to the Lexus, with no driver
Got ya own ninety-six suh-um, to ride in 
Keep ya ass tighter than Versace, that's why
You gotta watch ya friends, you got to watch me, the conniving shit
The first chance to crack the bank, they'll try me
All they get is fifty-cent franks, and papayas
From the village, to the telly
Time to kill it, on ya belly
No question, had more black chicks between my sheets than Essence
They say sex is a weapon, so when I shoot
Meet ya death in less than eight seconds
Still poundin' in my after life, laughin'
My shit is tight, who you askin', right

Ain't no nigga like the one I got
No one can fuck you better
Sleeps around but he gives me alot
Keeps you in diamonds and leathers
Friends'll tell me I should leave you alone (Haha..haha..haha..haha)
Tell them freaks to find a man of they own (Man of they own, man of they own)

Yeah, yeah
Fresh to def in Moschino
Coach bag lookin' half black and Filipino, fakin' no jacks
Got you a beeper to feel important
Surrounded ya feet in Joanie Degas and Charles Jordan
I keep ya dove, but love
You know these hoes be, making me weak
Ya'll know how it goes B, and so I creep
I been sinnin' since you been playin' with Barbie and Ken, and
You can't change a players game in the ninth inning
The chrome rims spinning keeps 'em grinning
So I run way the fuck up in 'em and wrinkle they face like linen
I play hard un-til they say "God, he's keepin' it real, Jigga stay hard"
Naw, don't even trip, I never slip 
Nigga, get a grip, what you don't see is what you get
Weapons concealed, what the fuck ya'll feel
When ya niggas play sick we can all get ill
(What the deal?)


Right, right, yo
Ain't no stoppin' this no lie 
Promise to stay monogamous, I try
But love you know these hoes be, makin' me weak
Ya'll know how it goes B, so I stay deep

[Foxy Brown]
What up boo
Just keep me laced in the illest snakes
Bank rolls and shit, back rubs in the french tub
Mackin' this bitch, wifey nigga
So when you flip that coke 'member the days you was dead broke
But now you stylin', I raised you
Basically made you, into a don, flippin' weight, heroin and shit
You know the pussy is all that
That's why I get baguettes, five carats and all that
From Dolce Gabbana, to H. Vendell 
I'm ringin' bells, so who the playa 
I still keep you in the illest gators
Tailor-made, so we can lay up in the shade
Reminiscin' on how I fuck the best and shit
'Specially when I'm sippin' Baileys
Don't give a fuck 'bout how you move with them other mamis
I push the Z, eatin' shrimp scampi 
With rocks larger than life
Fuck them Reebok broads, you made it known who ya wife was
I got you frontin' in Armani sweaters
Before this rap shit when you was in leathers and bullshit Berettas
And E-class-es with Mo' in the glasses
Shows in Cali with all the flavors suede Bally's 
Now all your mens-es up in ya Benz-es
High post, I swear you be killing me 
Playin' inside my pubic hairs
I never worry bout them other chicks
Cause you proved who was your wiz 
When you was spinnin' that bitch
I tripped a little, when you was up north
Ya commissary stay pilin'
How you livin' large on a island
All them collects had me vexed, but when you come home
Knew I was comin' off with half of them checks
Now we on a rise, your diamond mami with the slanted eyes
Holdin' this brick, copped the ? and shit
Fucks no, I see half of the dough (whoa, whoa)
Made you into a star, pushin' hundred thousand dollars cars

[Chorus 2x fadin' out]

[Adlibs during the chorus]
Uh, what nigga, 
Foxy Brown, (uh, uh, uh, Jay-Z ya'll) Jay-Z niggas
Copped the ? and shit (That's right, whoa, whoa)
(Jay-Z, what, Fox Brown, Roc-A-Fella ya'll)
(Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa)


Diskografie Jay-Z – Jay-Z