text: A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
  I was told only reach for the heat if you 
  So when I lift the shirt, thats the end of discussion
  Click clack motherfuckers, I aint trynna hear that
  They call me Nicolas, style defined as ridiculous
  I beg your pardon, meet me at the Garden
  Number one draft, Im New Yorks pick and -
  I dont lose like them dudes, on the New York Knicks
  , Im overseas, rocking hella capris - Im in the
  West Indies, eatin delicacies - I tell em
  They want Kane like Erica? Please
  Brotha your money young, like that nigga Jeezy
  These broke rappers, always rappin bout a pink truck
  Im only happy, when Im hoppin out the Brinks truck
  And I dont need a sixteen, I got a sentence
  I goes in on a fucker, like an entrance
  These old bitches, better change they dentures
  When I get in the game, they gon play the benches
  Fuck your friendship, pay attention
  Bitch get at me? Imma pay my henchmen
  A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
  I was told only reach for the heat if you 
  So when I lift the shirt, thats the end of discussion
  Click clack motherfuckers, I aint trynna hear that
  They call me Maraj,fuck you, and fuck your -
  Squad, head bitch in charge, I aint talkin bout the Taj
  Im on the other line, I aint talkin bout call waitin
  Im VIP lil mama, I just walk straight in
  Lil Dolce & Gabbana got this broad hatin
  Thats why I pop up in the Porsche, with the top vacant
  Mami stop fakin, talkin bout, what? -
  You got, you aint got nathen, and youre not caking
  Youre not my taste, get out of my face
  I play the top, like eight friends on your Myspace
  Stay in a childs place, check the timin
  I rock bitches, like they throwin up the diamonds
   You on a flight, I be bakin on islands
  Mami, your accent sounds faker than Dylan
  Murder dem, murder dem
  Fuck a competition, already murdered them
  A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
  I was told only reach for the heat if you 
  So when I lift the shirt, thats the end of discussion
  Click clack motherfuckers, I aint trynna hear that
  They call me Nicki M, hard to find me in a sticky benz
  I play the club with a thug, and some pretty friends 
  And if they aint got the gat, they got the knife on 
  Youre too wack, to get up on one of my songs 
  You got a deal, cause you was givin up the coochie, prolly 
  But Ill arrange one hit, like Oochie Wally 
   And youll be gone til November, like Wyclef 
  I hold weight and I aint talkin bout biceps
  I rep Queens like a crown, when Im in the -
  Town, ask Yung Joc, Its Goin Down 
  Kisses to my bitches, and my niggas, get a pound
  June, turn me up, How I sound?
  Bitches dont know the half, like they flunked that math
  Give a fuck about a bitch, and the clique she with
  Unless, you doin them numbers, like arithmetic
  Young Nick, holla back and turn up my shit
  A lot of rap niggas be trynna play hard
  I was told only reach for the heat if you 
  So when I lift the shirt, thats the end of discussion
  Click clack motherfuckers, I aint trynna hear that