LogFAQs > #955858215

Close your eyes and imagine, feel the magic
Vegas on acid, seen through Yves St. Laurent glasses.
And I've realized that I've arrived
'Cause it take more than a magazine to kill my Vibe.
Does he write his own rhymes? Well, sort of, I think 'em.
That mean I forgot better shit than you ever thought of.
Damn, is he really that caught up?
I ask, if you talkin' about classics, do my name get brought up?
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What more could you ask for? The international asshole.
Who complain about what he is owed?
And throw a tantrum like he is three years old.
You gotta love it though: somebody still speaks from his soul.
And wouldn't change by the change or the game or the fame.
When he came in the game, he made his own lane.
Now all I need is y'all to pronounce my name
It's Kanye, but some of my plaques, they still say Kayne.
Got family in the D, Kin-folk from Motown.
Back in the Chi, them Folks ain't from Moe Town.
Life movin' too fast, I need to slow down.
Girl ain't give me no ass, you need to go down.
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After debris settles and the dust get swept off.
Big K pick up where young Hov left off.
Right when magazines wrote Kanye West off.
I dropped my new shit, it sound like, "The Best Of..."
A&R's lookin' like, "Pssh, we messed up."
Grammy night, damn right, we got dressed up.
Bottle after bottle 'til we got messed up.

Great f'n song

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