People Like Myself Lyrics - Indecent Proposal - Timbaland

People like myself, only hang with self cause that's the way to go 

I can't go outside without findin some new kinfolks 

People on my left, people on my right, all in my earhole 

Make be like whoa and find me somewhere else to go 

It's Mag from your TV screen, buzzin off the Jim Beam 

But the Mag y'all think y'all know ain't what I seem 

I'm a low-down freak from Chesapeake 

See them high school mates, I see 'em and don't speak 

All y'all wanna talk like we used to hang 

Cause I'm doin my thang, now you wanna bask in my fame 

That's why I stay out the club, be in the crib 

Smokin a dub, countin my cash, over the phone 

And I'm sellin cell phones, all with chips 

My nine to bloods, my glock to crips, who want war? 

You and your boys can bring the noise 

But I'ma bring hand grenades, now you're laid! 

Pull out my dick, piss on your bitch-ass 

Sit on your face, now you gotta kiss ass 

Who fiend for fame life belong to your fans 

and haters and thugs that wanna end your lifespan 

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Uhh, uhh, uhh - since I got bigger (bigger) 

I'm over here and y'all recite Tim's my nigga (nigga) 

Like I just figure (figure) 

And my tracks didn't help niggaz 

So for rememdy I pound niggaz 

Like I keep 'em in DJ's for that new Jigga 

Like them forty-two Girbauds 

I pocket every demo, like Timbaland - he's that next nigga 

Confirmed by people that she can blow 

Convinced Booker T she's the next to go 

Now I'm checkin every joint and every unit I sold 

Once I'm deep in the dough, I'm deep with a crew 

In the 80's y'all screamed like the movie is through 

Y'all screamin this is "Nutty Professor: Part II" 

To "Eyes Wide Shut" to whoever I choose 

I can appreciate a Kidman to a, Tom Cruise 

To a, fast food, I'm strictly drive-through 

The money I gave dudes I basically raised fools 

Photos 

Even the phone spit it, God know what I'm thinkin 

I'm drinkin and smokin and stressin, go to church for confession 

Down on my knees, beggin to God, show me the path 

My label is jerkin me workin me so the devil can lurk in me 

Sick of niggaz bitchin, wishin I'd fail 

Tell 'em Mag be the rap effin Kenan and Kel 

I'm spittin the version of verses curses over the churches 

Rappin mo' iller than thriller Manila and give you salmonella 

Stop, the press! 

Bitch, you can't afford that dress, you can't afford that hairdo 

I don't want your sex, here take your fast food 

"Tim you're dead wrong, Tim you're dead rude!" 

Hey girl, I don't even know you 

"Timbaland we're your first cousin Marion Sue" 

My momma never ever mentioned you 

My momma also told me to watch them savage boos, what? 

- repeat 2X