[Intro: Johnny “Guitar” Watson & Junie Morrison]
La-di-da-da-a, da-a (I like this flavor)
La-da-da-da-di-da-da-a, la-a (La-a, la-a, la-a)
Let me tell you, I’m out here
From a very far away place
All for a chance to be a star
Nowhere seems to be too far
[Chorus: Kanye West, Junie Morrison & Ghostface Killah]
No more parties in L.A.
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more parties in L.A.
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more (Los Angeles)
Please (Shake that body, party that bod—)
Please (Shake that body, party that bod—)
Please (Shake that body, party that body)
[Verse 1: Kendrick Lamar & Kanye West]
Hey, baby, you forgot your Ray Bans
And my sheets still orange from your spray-tan
It was more than soft porn for the K-Man
She remember my Sprinter, said “I was in the grape van”
Um—well, cutie, I like your bougie booty
Come, Erykah Badu-me—well, let’s make a movie
Hell, you know my repertoire is like a wrestler
I show you the ropes, connect the dots
A country girl in North Hollywood
Mama used to cook red beans and rice
Now it’s Denny’s, 4 in the morning, spoil your appetite
Liquor pouring and niggas swarming your section with erection
Smoke in every direction, middle finger pedestrians
R&B singers and lesbians, rappers and managers
Music and iPhone cameras
This shit unanimous for you, it’s damaging for you, I think
That pussy should only be holding exclusive rights to me, I mean
He flew you in this motherfucker on first class
Even went out his way so you could check in an extra bag
Now you wanna divide the yam like it equate the math?
That shit don’t add up, you’re making him mad as fuck
She said she came out here to find an A-list rapper
I said, “Baby, spin that ’round and say the alphabet backwards”
You’re dealing with malpractice, don’t kill a good nigga’s confidence
Just ’cause he a nerd and you don’t know what a condom is
The head still good, though; the head still good, though
Make me say “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo”
Make a nigga say big words and act lyrical
Make me get spiritual, make me believe in miracles
Buddhist monks and Cap’n Crunch cereal
Lord have mercy, thou will not hurt me
Five buddies all herded up on a Thursday
Bottle service, head service, I came in first place
The opportunity, the proper top of breast and booty cheek
The pop community, I mean these bitches come with union fee
And I want two of these, moving units through consumer streets
Then my shoe released, she was kickin’ in gratuity
And yeah, G, I was all for it
She said, “K-Lamar, you kinda dumb to be a poet
I’ma put you on game for the lames that don’t know they a rookie
Instagram is the best way to promote some pussy”
[Chorus: Kanye West]
Scary, scary
No more parties in L.A.
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A.
[Verse 2: Kanye West]
Friday night, tryna make it into the city
Breakneck speeds, passenger seat—somethin’ pretty
Thinking back to how I got here in the first place
Second-class bitches wouldn’t let me on first base
A backpack nigga with luxury tastebuds
And the Louis Vuitton store got all of my pay stubs
Got pussy from beats I did for niggas more famous
When did I become A-list? I wasn’t even on a list
Strippers get invited to where they only got hired
When I get on my Steve Jobs, somebody gon’ get fired
I was uninspired since Lauryn Hill retired
And 3 Stacks, man, you preaching to the choir
Any rumor you ever heard about me was true and legendary
I done got Lewinsky’d and paid secretaries
For all my niggas with babies by bitches
That use they kids as meal tickets
Not knowin’ the disconnect from the father
The next generation will be the real victims
I can’t fault ’em, really
I ‘member Amber told my boy
No matter what happens, she ain’t goin’ back to Philly
Back to our regularly scheduled programmin’
Of weak content and slow jammin’
But don’t worry, this one’s so jammin’
You know it, L.A., it’s so jammin’
I be thinkin’ every day
Mulholland Drive need to put up some goddamn barricades
I be paranoid every time, the pressure
The problem ain’t I be drivin’, the problem is I be textin’
My psychiatrist got kids that I inspired
First song they played for me was ’bout their friend that just died
Textin’ and drivin’ down Mulholland Drive
That’s why I’d rather take the 405
I be worried ’bout my daughter, I be worried ’bout Kim
But Saint is baby Ye, I ain’t worried ’bout him
Had my life threatened by best friends with selfish intents
What I’m supposed to do?
Ride around with a bulletproof car and some tints?
Every agent I know know I hate agents
I’m too black, I’m too vocal, I’m too flagrant
Something smellin’ like shit, that’s the new fragrance
It just mean, I do it my way, bitch
Some days I’m in my Yeezys, some days I’m in my Vans
If I knew y’all made plans, I wouldn’t have popped the Xans
I know some fans thought I wouldn’t rap like this again
But the writer’s block is over; emcees, cancel your plans
A thirty-eight-year-old eight-year-old with rich nigga problems
Tell my wife that I hate the Rolls so I don’t never drive it
It took six months to get the Maybach all matted out
And my assistant crashed it soon as they backed it out
Goddamn! Got a bald fade, I might slam
Pink fur, got Nori dressin’ like Cam
Thank God for me (Los Angeles)
Whole family gettin’ money, thank God for E
I love rockin’ jewelry, a whole neckful
Bitches say he funny and disrespectful
I feel like Pablo when I’m workin’ on my shoes
I feel like Pablo when I see me on the news
I feel like Pablo when I’m workin’ on my house
Tell ’em party’s in here, we don’t need to go out
We need the turbo thots, high speed, turbo thots
Drop-dro-dro-dro-drop, like Robocop
She brace herself and hold my stomach, good dick’ll do that
She keep pushin’ me back, good dick’ll do that
She push me back when the dick go too deep
This good dick’ll put your ass to sleep
Get money (Money, money, money)
Big, big money (Money, money, money)
And as far as real friends, tell all my cousins I love ’em
Even the one that stole the laptop, you dirty motherfucker
[Bridge: Larry Graham]
I just keep on lovin’ you, baby
And there’s no one else I know can take your pla—, pla—, pla—
[Chorus: Kanye West, Junie Morrison & Ghostface Killah]
Please, no more parties in L.A. (Shake that body, party that body)
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh (Shake that body, party that body)
No more parties in L.A. (Los Angeles)
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more parties in L.A.
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
[Outro: Junie Morrison]
Let me tell you, I’m out here from a very far away place
All for a chance to be a star
Nowhere seems to be too far
Swish
[Produced by Madlib and Kanye West]
عالیه