Song Lyrics

[Timbaland]
Yo (yo), yo, ay yo
Timabaland's flow infamous
Allow me to assemble this flow with limitless style
For all man, woman and innocent child

I have no perimeter
Break all barriers in various areas
My sound is mimicked
Track prime minister, some say sinister

None stoppin the groove until when it's
The climax, some niggas is bitin my hot hats
And followed my drum pattern, but I done that
It's time to change, get more deranged

Feels more strange (doooodooooo)
Follow me through gravel and shallow trees
From mountains to flat plain, to thunder and black rain
Through the dream state of utopia

Woke up to the sounds of that man Timbaland
Five Mexican bitches scopin us
Belly dancin, sayin "hell, he's handsome" in Spanish
We was fine until the subtitles vanished

Then and open fire, totin opium
Higher than I ever been in my life
Heard cries throughout the night like

[Chorus: Static]
Let's get 'em started
While they dance on, Indian Carpet
see'mon, uh
Niggas act retarded
While they dance on, Indian Carpet
see'mon, uh
Let's get 'em started
While they dance on, Indian Carpet

[Timbaland]
Ay yo, I woke up to a bowl of rice like the Golden Child
T.V. playin like the Poltergeist, must been on overnight
I saw a strong beam of light, decided to walk to it
Could it be the son of Christ, I decided to talk to it

In the halls I heard music shoutin beautiful calls
And I swore I heard a voice say:
It's yours my, gift to you, to do what you choose
But I suggest you do what you do to make the spirits move

I hear ya dude, and me bein a barrel of fruit
But your ears heavenly, when I sit in this chair and produce
Then my hallway darkened
I felt a power surge rush throughout my apartment
And the glance callin like

[Chorus]

[Magoo]
Mag spit with a sense of purpose on purpose
When you was eatin collard greens I was eatin these dreams
I stepped in dog shit and bit Skid Row twice
Only ice I had put it in my orange Slice

What you know about livin in a jail when it ain't no bars
Handcuffed with no key, world denyin your plea
A third-degree charge when it ain't no crime
Twenty-six years old and I got more time

Phone overdue, baby on the way, low pay
Low rent for your mom, gotta get away
Smoke, hate now, then you want to talk about the ghetto
I'm tenth generation of that, came out the womb with a hat

Polo on and Nikes with a gold tooth
I'm Superman, I can spit from any phone booth
You and your cold ass crew do what you do
Just remember Mag never feel good, I am the flu

[Chorus]

Melvin Barcliff, Shawn N Carter, Timothy N Mosley