Heavy Hitters (a cappella) Songtext
von Ye

Heavy hitters fo′ life
Heavy hitters fo' life
Mm, mm
Mm-mm

You rappers think I give a fuck about the way that they spit
Wanna be on my album, but don′t want me on they shit
Everybody thought I was making a compilation
I was really making myself they compe-tation
Fresh off the plane from the All-Star game
Bone girls on TV, so it's All-Star trains
Just picture, man (uh-huh), no snitchin', man (uh-uh)
Something for the fiends fresh out the kitchen, man
Last 9/11, I was poor on the ave′, ′til I pluraled my math


Now it's Porsche 911 and I′m flooring the gas (errr!)
Got a lot of problems, money's one that I not have (no more, ugh)
Well, Dame look at how everybody changed
Tell Jay that I′m 'bout to change the game
Tell Biggs that we about to get paid
All my niggas is ′bout to have it made
This makes everything else sound played
"Goddamn, Kanye!" (Kanye! Kanye!)
Now hold up! Ain't nobody messing with me, dawg
Now, you say it! "Ain't nobody messin′ with you at all!"

I told dude, "You can′t even rap on my interlude"
Now, does that make me as rude as Jude?
"When the album coming out?" Man, the people is asking
Yamamoto, Adidas, he's sick with the fashion
You already got dough, so you spit for the passion (ugh)
The way you rhyme give me Tribe Called Quest flashbacks
And let′s not even bring up the tracks, man
Nope, nope, let's not do that, man
You eating up the game like Pac-Man
And got the whole world shaking just like crack fiends

Heavy hitters, fo′ life (woo!)
Roc-a-Fella is fo' life
Throw your diamonds up, throw your diamonds up
Throw your diamonds (just let the beat ride out for a minute)

Let′s take it there, take it there, man
Champ 'posed to be, GLC
Can't be the champ, you ugly
GLC, where you at homie?


How many niggas you know that put their life on the line
To get signed? Did a few high crimes, almost had lights-out
After the sunshine, you thinking it might count
How could I might doubt? Just look at my account
I used to work at the mall with nothing at all
Seeing niggas that ball, that shit was depressing
Keep my clothes in the cleaners, I ain′t with the pressing
When I copped them pounds, it was my best investments

Dre got shot (aww) and that taught me a lesson
For stickin′ niggas up in them robbery masses
Mask like Batman, minus the tight pants
Would hit yo' baby momma, but her elbows is ashy (uh-uh)
Fo′ different blues, man, your outfit is clashing (ha!)
You ain't got no muscles, you weak, lame bastard (ha-ha)

Man, look at your haircut
Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, naw, your hair sucks
How many niggas you know is really heavy hitters?
′87 Go-Getters, two hoes like John Ritter
Even did it on his crime picture and yeah (ugh, ugh, ugh)
And offers to sell and yell, ugh

Heavy hitters fo' life
Roc-a-Fella is fo′ life
Throw your diamonds up, throw your diamonds up
Throw your diamonds

Yo, what up?
This is Rude motherfuckin' Jude
AKA "The Tapioca Stroker"
AKA "The J-Man"
AKA "Rascal Lovato"
AKA "That guy"
Think about it
Now I-

I'm over here chillin′ with Kanye ′cause we got a lot in common, you know what I'm sayin′?
He got a unique style, I got a style of my own
I, I've been listening to the radio and shit and I′ve been hearing a lot of high pitch singy songs on the background
I'm like, yo, "Yo, Kanye, that′s your shit, that's your shit!"
He's like, "Nah dawg"
So you you don′t gotta be a mathematician or a motherfucking marine biologist to figure this shit out
Motherfuckers is bitin′
So please, do yourself and everybody else a favor
Take that style that you had
Put it in an UPS package and send it back to Kanye's house ′cause he want his style back