"More Than Music" as written by Laron L. James, Robert Dukes and Eddie Levert....
Yeah, okay (we gonna do it like this)
I'm back again
Santana (oh)
Fuck with your boy
Dipset, Dipset, yeah
Heatmakers

Yo I try to be easy
I try to be calm breathe easy, it don't seem easy (no)
I'm on my Ps and Qs (what else?)
Ys and Zs, .45 on the side of me
Plus, four guys on the side of me (for what)
With .45 on the side of them (yeah)
We can play now, this is a war not a playground
We came here to lay or get laid down, spray or get sprayed down
Wills for us anyday now, cops with their wall to wall raids down
I'm ducking and weaving
Running and leaving
Not trying to feel the cuffs when they squeezing
Or the plugger they stuck to Lumina
So I'm stuck with this nina, I'm stuck with this finger
Itchy as fuck, you're fucked if I leave ya chump
Went to school, but ain't stay in class, hated class
Only first period, yep, I could relate to math
Played games, but the games is bad
You know, cops and robbers, laser tag, see what I was aiming at (come on)
Hop scotching on niggas faces kept my ankles bad
That ain't stop me from working I got me a worker
Gotta him to work, and yeah, chopping the work up
Kept him on a clock, clocking my work up, niggas know me
Taught him how to cook, livin' his work up
Told him it's not the pot, it's the worker, gotta mix shorty
Gotta do it like this shorty
Clockwise, counter-clockwise, it's all in the wrist shorty
Fuck with me (shorty) (yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)

This is a movement, this is a union
This is more than what you people call music
I'm part of this Dipset confusion
Tecs up we movin', catch up, y'all losing
Y'all ain't big enough to be at the table, nope
Y'all ain't big enough to eat at the table, nope
This is powerful music that I bring to the table
The sequel of Abel, fuck with your boy

You motherfuckers really don't know (no)
You motherfuckers really wont know
I'm real fucker, I really won't fold (come one)
I kill fuckers and wheelie off roads
Bangie rapper, like I'm really off road
The pain I feel, I really won't show man
The game is real, I really don't know Cam
If I'ma make it or not, but my plan to take it straight to the top
Bring my fame to the block, with me
Harlem's my home, so I'm making it hot with me
'Til the day I'm layed on the block, with shots in me
Stay weeded, stay chiefin a blunt
Stay losing some more pounds, I ain't eating enough, nope
Stop fronting homes, you wont do nothing homes
Killa locked this, I'm what's up and coming home
You better believe, one thing I was always taught in my household you better achieve
No matter what you do, you better succeed
That was embedded in me, yeah, the rest was left up to me
So I, played my position, I stayed in the kitchen
Base tripping off the bottom of the plate when I'm mixing
Cake whipping on the bottom of the plate when I left it
Eight digits when I take it, break it and flip it
This is the Matrix, I take it we live in
Shit, I'm seeing the sun, I'm Neo the one, believe me (come on)
Hand picked like cotton, I've been sent here not to be forgotten
My hands grip the dots in, I get ya poppin'
Shoot shit, shit is poppin'
Move bricks get it rocking, y'all know me
Ya young homie from the block, y'all forgot me already?
Holla back, the young Rocky is ready whoa!

Yeah
Come on (okay)
Uh huh, uh huh, yeah

This is a movement, this is a union
This is more than what you people call music
I'm part of this Dipset confusion
Tecs up we movin', catch up, y'all losing
Y'all ain't big enough to be at the table, nope
Y'all ain't big enough to eat at the table, nope
This is powerful music that I bring to the table
The sequel of Abel, fuck with your boy


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"More Than Music" as written by Robert Dukes Laron L. James

Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

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