Champions
By
Machine Gun Kelly, Diddy
Album
Black Flag
Viewed
10,366,103
Please choose the correct answer for each question below:
Questions: 0/100
Correct: 0
Translate:
I'm a show you motherf***ers how to make cheese eggs tonight.
God damn it.
Hey yo,
ain't nobody left but us, man.
Shit.
Last one standing.
Lace up.
Black Flag.
Bad boy, bitch!
Hey yo,
it's lonely at the top.
All of y'all better wake up now.
Everyone's a little late right now.
Keep it real, I'm a little hot.
How the f**k you gonna hate right now?
Remember my first single?
Shit, well it's doing great right now.
Took a 500,000 what the gate straight to the bank right now.
Shiest, wicked, did my city so I gotta send me in a rake right now.
Everybody f**king with me and if you ain't then you are a place right now.
Everybody ain't real.
Everybody can't beat us.
Everybody stay losing.
That makes us champions.
I take that title.
Til they wave like that title.
Introducing me to Billie Jean.
Shit, I take that Michael.
Trying to bring the paper in my paper thin like that rifle.
That is how you win.
Straight to the biggest.
That Eiffel.
Oh.
We are the champions.
Something they can't understand.
It's that fight to the death.
Standing on top of that podium.
Putting that number one in the air.
We did it, baby.
Hey, your mama.
Mama, look at us now.
We the motherf**king champions.
Hey yo, f**k that, go to verse two.
F**k all this talking shit.
Kill these motherf**kers.
I came straight from selling nickel bags out my baby mama's pad just to get a meal.
Straight from putting Similac in a Walmart bag trying to make a steal.
Straight from burning 1000 CDs with my name on it.
Opposite of what the game wanted.
Motherf**ker, we just trying to get a meal.
Now they shake a grab, boy.
Signed to the bad boy.
I ain't getting cheesecake?
Nope.
This ain't making another band homeboy.
Oh, what's that, my bitch.
God damn, she Colombian, homeboy.
Ever since I got some fans, homeboy.
Haters trying to be my friends, homeboy.
Pull up in that tour bus.
Everybody know what's going on in there.
Backroom, lotta panties dropping.
Lotta pretty bitches, pretty long hair.
I'mma talk my shit, bitch.
I came in the game as rookie of the year.
Blake Griffin.
Kyrie.
I'm Amar'e Stoudemire.
Yeah, it's still a couple people got a problem with me.
Up the Fader magazine.
I mean Fader magazine.
Tell the journalists to suck a c**k and sign my second jeans.
Choke, motherf**ker, choke.
None of my fans open up your f**king magazine.
Luckily I don't had your name come up in your office and load up a f**king magazine.
Charlamagne don't like me.
What's his name won't fight me.
I'm a hyped individual.
God damn it, hype beast, hype me.
Maybe 'cause I wasn't a good kid in a mad city like Kendrick.
I was just a little bad motherf**ker begging landlord to be a tenant.
Begging everyone to get my song a listen.
Trying to get about the shitty job position.
Trying to get a 24-carat gold toilet 'cause I never had a pot to piss in.
But it's okay, I'm still maintaining.
No, no, no, man.
F**k that.
F**k maintaining.
I'm tired of being humble.
It's time to let these industry motherf**kers know, man.
I wake up, I see four MTV awards on my dresser that I got this year.
I'm rolling up J's as long as my f**king shoe on a gold clap.
Lace the f**k up!
God damn it.
Hold, hold, hold on.
Hello?
Yo, Kells.
Bad news, playboy.
XXL just pulled your article.
You got to be f**king kidding me.
