Champions (feat. Puff Diddy)
Last one standing
Lace up! Black Flag!
Bad Boy, bitch!
Hey yo, it's lonely at the top
Hey yo Kells, hey yo Kells are you ready?
Hey yo Kells, get these motherfuckers
All of y'all better wake up now
Everyone's a little late right now
Keep it real, I'm a little hot
How the fuck you gonna hate right now?
Remember my first single?
Chyea well it's doing great right now
Took a 5 hundred though off the gate
Straight to the bank right now
Shit gets wicked in my city so I got a semi in a race right now
Everybody fuckin with me and if you ain't then you outta place right now
Everybody ain't real, everybody can't be us
Everybody stay losin, that makes us champions
I take that title, till they wave like tidal
Introducin' me to Billie Jean, shit I'll take that Michael
Tryin bring the paper in, my paper thin like that Bible
That is how you win stackin Benjamins till its big as the Eiffel
We are the champions my friends
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
Cause we are the champions of the world
I came straight from sellin' nickel bags
Out my baby mama pad just to get a meal
Straight from puttin similac in a Walmart bag tryin make a steal
Straight from burnin' 1 thousand CD's with my name on it
Opposite of what the game wanted, motherfucker we just tryin' get a mill
Now the shaker grad boy signed to the Bad Boy
But I ain't gettin cheesecake, no this ain't Making of the Band homeboy
What is that my bitch? God damn she Colombian homeboy?
Ever since I got some bands homeboy haters tryin' be my friends homeboy
Pull up in that tour bus everybody know what's going on in there
Backroom lotta panties droppin lotta pretty bitches pretty long hair
I'mma talk my shit, bitch I came into the game as rookie of the year
Blake Griffin, Kyrie, Amar'e Stoudemire
Yeah and still couple people gotta problem with me at the hater magazine
I mean Fader magazine, tell the journalist to suck what's in my saggin' jeans
Choke motherfucker, choke man and my fans will open up your fuckin magazine
Lucky I don't have Jermaine come up in your office and load up a fuckin magazine
Charlemagne don't like me, what's his name won't fight me
I'm a hype individual god damn it hype beats hype me
Maybe cause I wasn't a good kid in a M.A.A.D. city like Kendrick
I was just a little bad motherfucker beggin landlords to be tenant
Beggin everyone to give my song a listen, tryin' get up out a shitty job position
Tryin' get a 24 karat gold toilet cause I never had a pot to piss in
But it's ok I'm still maintaining
No fuck that, fuck maintaining
I'm tired of being humble
It time to let these industry motherfuckers know, man
I wake up and I see four MTV-awards on my dresser that I got this year
I roll J's as long as my fucking shoe on a fucking gold plat
Lace the fuck up!
Champions! Bad Boy!
Lace Up! Black Flag!
Never, never, never give up
We see you at the top, baby
We will be waiting there with a ice cold glass of lemonade and Cîroc
And a couple of bad bitches to massage your feet, cause that's how we do
If you make it, you're welcome
Get down or lay down