J.Armz and Fabolous - Yep, I'm Back

Boom, clap, boom clap
Boom, clap, boom clap
Boom, clap, boom clap
Boom, clap, boom clap

Now, everybody, get your hands up
Now, everybody, get your hands up
Lo-so, mo' betta (mo' betta), mo' cheddar (mo' cheddar)
I do the rolls; I am not a mo wetta
Challenge me with the bling - these niggas know betta
The wings are as big as the logo on those sweaters
Hos betta have a fall back attack
I come through like a funeral - all black on black
Couple six deuces, all back to back
Few flyin' Spurs, all back to back
Need a '04/'05 Dunkin 'n them
When it come to makin' O's, we like dunkin' with them
Nah, I ain't talking donuts
I'm talking white ones like the Nike low cuts
You couldn't see me if you stood on your tippy toes
But you could smell this Cali kush with the zippy closed
Damn skippy, those seats is peanut butter
You never seen us stutter, like street fitted, and...

[Chorus:]
Yep, I'm back stuntin', yep, I'm back frontin'
Yep, I'm somebody who made something outta nothing
Yep, I know you see something that you wantin'
It's just something about me you can't go with out me, y'all
Said, you can't go without me y'all
Said, you can't go without me y'all

Now, everybody, get your hands up
Now, everybody, get your hands up
Mo' stuntin' (mo' stuntin'), mo' frontin' (mo' frontin')
How you gettin' it, homey? Show something
You can ask about him; he go hard
With that A.M.E.X. negro card
Last time I was seen in a strip club
Rain, I hurricane Katrina the strip club
May I say I made a way
To stay fly till the day I fade away
Hey, I pray I stay out of a hater's way
Lemme play like A.I., and just get to the point
Lemme hear 'em say "ah" when he spit to the joint
You gon' hear a spray "raa" when I get to the joint
And a blind man could see that them niggas with Fab is gon'
Come like them dudes came for Tony at the Babylon
Rapid fire, do you know a rapid flyer?
The L-O-S-O; I guess no

[Chorus]

Now, everybody, get your hands up
Now, everybody, get your hands up
Mo' winnin' (mo' winnin') mo' dinin' (mo' dinin')
Slow windin' gangstas throw signs and
I can't help that the chain is so shinin'
That the shit on my wrist is just co-signin'
They don't search us; they know we got the flamers
Still let us slide through the door, like Cramer
I believe in God, but my true religion
Is stuffin' big faces down in these true religions
We everywhere, you ain't never there
New coupe shoe shine, like patent leather Airs
Pushin' something we ain't got our names on
Two '07's, neither one of us is James Bond
We in the V.I.P.'s with the big names
Fendi Aviator shades with the big frames
The streets is watchin', hood is lookin'
Brooklyn's back, and look at how good I'm lookin'

[Chorus]

Now, everybody, get your hands up
Now, everybody, get your hands up

Written by:
JEFFREY CONTELLA, JOHN JACKSON, JOHN DAVID JACKSON

Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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