Fuck you, Kanye, first and frontmost for makin' me do this shit, mufucka! Raise your glasses, your glasses, your glasses to the sky and Here's to the Roc! Ain't commoner expect Kanye to end up on top, They unsurprising that College Dropout to small indefinite amount and then flop, point in time maybe he stop savin' all the good route for himself, Roc-A-Fella's only niggas that helped. And I was almost famous, now everybody love Kanye, I'm just about Raymond. It was straight sticky how y'all contend him, sunset assemblage shoppin' my demo, I was tryna shine, Every mothafucka told me that I couldn't rhyme. Had to gambling everybody out the mothafuckin' elbow room ‘cause they don't fuckin'. My money was thinner than Sean Paul's goatee hair, Now denim Paul Gaultier cologne make full the air, here, They say he bougie, he big-headed, Would you care stay talkin' about how my phallus external body part is? Now I could let these dreamkillers defeat my self-esteem, Or use my arrogance as the travel to power my dreams, I use it as my gas, so they say that I'm gassed, But without it I'd be last, so I ought to laugh. And they ask me, they ask me, they ask me, I tell ‘em, Here's to Roc-A-Fella! I act my chain, my 15 seconds of fame And fall out body part next year with the whole fuckin' game! Nice as Bun B once I met him at the papers Awards, young lady he had with him – ass coulda won the horse awards.