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I Know Ya Mad Lyrics - Mixtape Messiah 7 - Chamillionaire

[Intro - Three 6 Mafia - talking] 

Yes sir (yes sir) 

Chamillionaire (Chamillitary mayne) 

Bun B (Bun B) 

It's goin down (it's goin down, I know ya mad) 

Yes sir 

Hypnotize Minds production (I know ya mad, I know ya mad) 

 

[Chorus - Chamillionaire - w/ ad libs] 

I know ya mad, I-I-I know ya mad 

I-I-I know ya mad, I know ya mad 

I know ya mad, I know ya mad 

I know ya mad, I know ya mad 

I know ya mad 'cause you hate that I'm not doin bad 

Yeah I'm feelin great and I know they wanna hate 

'Cause they hate to see me eatin shrimp and steak 

Yeah I know ya mad 

I'm a demonstrate, how to deal with all the hate 

While I'm reppin for my city and my state 

I-I-I know ya mad 

 

[Verse 1 - Chamillionaire] 

You know I'm chasin a milli (that's right), reppin my city (that's right) 

Life is a gamble, I told my city just give me them dice, been gettin scrilli 

Back in your city like "give me that twice" 

Stay gettin cake and I know they hate I won't give 'em a slice 

Up in the mornin, got them customers callin 

I'm a hustler-holic, call me up and I'm on it 

Stack them Barack Obamas, stuff 'em up in my wallet 

Yeah the car right behind me was way too much but I bought it (to make ya mad) 

I-I-I know ya mad, every one of my whips is bad 

Like Cam and Dash told Bill O'Reilly - ya mad 

How you get mad? You see me grindin and holdin cash 

You think I slept with ya mama and went and told ya dad 

I-I-I know ya mad, that's why you mad at night 

All you do is gossip, so I'm the reason you have a life 

You can't compete with my fleet, so go pick a better fight 

Got so many cars, I couldn't track 'em all with a satellite (hey!) 

You see them swangers pokin, you see my trunk is open 

Versace locin, hopin that I'm gon' end up broke and 

I really hope you jokin, what type of dope you smokin 

You text message in exclamations to show emotion (ha) 

 

[Chorus - w/ ad libs] 

 

[Verse 2 - Bun B] 

It takes a playa to know a playa, so let me greet ya 

Welcome to "The Land Of The Trill", I'm happy to meet ya 

Bun Beeder the trill O.G. and not in the makin (makin) 

You see this dough that I be takin and the broads' that I'm breakin (breakin) 

We be bringin home the bacon, ain't no fakin over here though (here though) 

Get mine in 2009 without dressin like a weirdo (weirdo) 

It's real off in these streets but I don't never show no fear though 

And it's still "UGK 4 Life", in case it wasn't clear bro 

Funny when you got nothin, nobody really cares 

Like you don't even exist (huh), it's like you was never there (fo' real) 

But soon as you get some bread, they lookin at you sideways 

Askin 'bout a shortcut and if you got some side plays 

Tell 'em "naw, it's hard work" (what?), they swear you lyin 

And then you got to start the case, pleadin and denyin 

Man you ain't got to explain yourself, don't tell 'em playa, show 'em (show 'em) 

Then keep it movin G and act like you don't even know 'em 

That's what's up 

 

[Chorus - w/ ad libs] 

 

[Break - Chamillionaire - singing] 

So you should love me baby (let's go), I'm puttin it down 

I get love from ladies, they love that I shine (woo!) 

I be hustlin daily, I stay gettin mine 

So congratulate me (let's go) or hate me now 

 

[Verse 3 - Chamillionaire] 

Middle finger up to the industry, every person I pass is shady 

Said I ain't commercial enough, my label still have to pay me 

Fakers is fallin off (yeah), realness would gravitate me 

My (Wheels) is of (Fortune), yeah Vanna White should congratulate me 

She find out my worth and the pretty woman gon' have to hate me 

Flirted with money, did it so well, that it had to date me 

Police done got madder later, they see me and had to chase me 

Trunk beatin so hard, pedestrians losin they balance baby 

Pencil's a Desert Eagle, promise my lead is lethal 

No we ain't equal, that's right, I'm hotter than desert people 

Wallet's a scary movie, stackin the root of evil 

Come back tomorrow, my bank deposit gon' get a sequel 

I-I-I know ya mad