Lyrics of 'Don't Stop!' by Lupe Fiasco

Explain yourself, how you sound like me?
The motherfuckin' skateboard p
Knowin' that you're me low, playin' games like cee-lo
In them tight situations like speedos
You can have it your way like carlito
My niggas will be happy to give y'all torpedoes
And have your car twisted like a blunt
For you faggot-ass niggas that like to front
I'm on some bbc bape shit, I'm on some cake shit

In the kitchen with the heat, makin' beats in my apron
You hate it, and you want to erase it
Close your eyes when you know you can't take it
My flow interrupts your homeostasis
I rolls-royce it on a regular basis
You talk street shit, it sound like sweet shit
Straight licorice, you niggas sound ticklish
80K large for the hermes dream
Purple croc in all your magazines
Hunger strike yourself, look like celine

Dion, me and my niggas like freon
Your bitches on my pecans, she got a ass you can eat on
Tryna play tough, like the leather on the recline
I hit it 'til I could seat on
Tryna get her freak on
Asked me to r. Kelly her
And get peed on, I said that ain't me, ma
The eight behind me, still got the burner
Yes, the enzo is still black like sojourner
Truth, I mighta just loosened a tooth
Spittin' what I did in the booth, I'm out, poof!

Carrera, raised in the teenage mutant ninja turtle era
Water bearer tell the truth, I dare ya
You lie, so eat this whole bottle of these jalapeno peppers
The terror made in america, too live
Fuck the property, or give me my props properly
High off life, this high-technology, devry
Now, rap muhammad ali, more like rapology
My policy's not to be dishonestly deprived
So gimme that, gimme that, keep God, where my city at?
I'm like steak and fries, but never died
They wanna ghostface wallabee me
But they will posthaste follow me into the afterlife
That means you goin' right after I've
But I'm the hero, sorta like jack sparrow
So some way, somehow, I have survived

Ha, ha, surprise!
Who is he that we see comin' over the tides?
In a speedboat, boatload of pride
Fall of rome dress-shirted and the mastermind tie
He what happens when rappin' and avant garde fashion collide
Omg, it's the c from the crs
Loling at you haters, tell your bffs like...
Yes, mr. West just turned that new child rebel
Loud as a bad-ass child level
Who need a chorus? We do it tyrannosaurus
Tyrone, it's been a year with no phone

Could you explain how high is your zone?
We'll take a plane, rub his nose in cocaine
His ho's in magazines, you lames stay in your lane
And for the hate, in advance pull down your pants
Make 'em kiss both cheeks like we livin' in france
Diamonds bluish, business manager's jewish
And if I get sued, my lawyers jews
Some girls do grab the cojones
Said you got enough diamonds to at least sierra loan us
Brand new ferraris, I gotta make the donuts

Crs is like a hip-hop christmas bonus
Niggas is hatin' on the internet? I couldn't tell
I was too busy rappin' good as hell
I was too busy flying - parasail
Get collette to get the new shit that paris sell
Tarantino, da vinci, gettin' benji's
Get half off at fendi, half of that's to cindy's

Hopped out the spaceship, put my mork in mindy
Popped too many corks to let you dorks offend me
Props to new york, but chi-town's the city
Give my city hoochies gucci, monica bellucci's
Are those the real millionaires or the bendies?
I'm so ultra I'm even over oprah
Well, let me check your account - ha, ha, no sir!