Mic check, one, two
Aight cool, sound good to me
I hear the whispers, like "What's goin' on? He been missin'
He used to run the show it's been a long intermission
I remember the mission he was on, it was different
He was sick, now my nigga done gone in remission"
That's what y'all think? Y'all think I lost my step?
Was on the run, but had to stop and never caught my breath
I'm drenched, I'm on the bench with, like, four more reps
In other words, I got shit left to get off my chest
Comin' up you heard the hunger in me, tough as can be
You couldn't sound cloudy, nigga, nothin' was free
If I ain't get a record deal then I was stuck in the P's with D's
Tryna spot if I had a wonderful stream
Of income, my outcome is somethin' to see
I was in a Jeep, sunk in the seat, beats bumpin'
Tryna out-rap Nasir and keep up wit Jay-Z
Crumblin' sixteens, I was only sixteen
Fast-foward, niggas out here mumblin', B
Why be smart when niggas on the charts dumber than me?
A bunch of bums with more money than me
So stayin' complex, yeah, that's an everyday struggle for me
I'm from when everybody wanted five mics
And Riggs Morales gave you "Unsigned Hype" if you rhymed right
A Stretch Armstrong spin was a highlight
And all the mixtapes was two-for-five like treys of that fire white
I understand why some would retire mics
Pack up turntables, the tables turn, wild right? Huh
But me, I'm in it fully, it's like that one bitch I just
Can't stop f*ckin', man, these beats do something to me
I post up on the throne, don't end up on a highlight
Poster 'cause you grown, who you 'posed to be? Malone?
I deliver like Post Offices, pre-Post Malones
You'd dick ride if you saw what I don't post on my phone
Every lines a great line, baby, New York's own
It's like I play for Jim Boeheim, boy stay in that zone
This my house, trespassin' I don't condone
Let me be, don't be them two niggas from Home Alone
And get iron in your face tryna roam where you don't belong
Brooklyn, Staten, Queens, Manhattan
The Bronx I stomps through all of that, what happened?
New York, I'm so proud to be your Captain
Enjoy the rappin'
Captain Video (MV)
Joell Ortiz - Captain Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Mic check, one, two
Aight cool, sound good to me
I hear the whispers, like "What's goin' on? He been missin'
He used to run the show it's been a long intermission
I remember the mission he was on, it was different
He was sick, now my nigga done gone in remission"
That's what y'all think? Y'all think I lost my step?
Was on the run, but had to stop and never caught my breath
I'm drenched, I'm on the bench with, like, four more reps
In other words, I got shit left to get off my chest
Comin' up you heard the hunger in me, tough as can be
You couldn't sound cloudy, nigga, nothin' was free
If I ain't get a record deal then I was stuck in the P's with D's
Tryna spot if I had a wonderful stream
Of income, my outcome is somethin' to see
I was in a Jeep, sunk in the seat, beats bumpin'
Tryna out-rap Nasir and keep up wit Jay-Z
Crumblin' sixteens, I was only sixteen
Fast-foward, niggas out here mumblin', B
Why be smart when niggas on the charts dumber than me?
A bunch of bums with more money than me
So stayin' complex, yeah, that's an everyday struggle for me
I'm from when everybody wanted five mics
And Riggs Morales gave you "Unsigned Hype" if you rhymed right
A Stretch Armstrong spin was a highlight
And all the mixtapes was two-for-five like treys of that fire white
I understand why some would retire mics
Pack up turntables, the tables turn, wild right? Huh
But me, I'm in it fully, it's like that one bitch I just
Can't stop f*ckin', man, these beats do something to me
I post up on the throne, don't end up on a highlight
Poster 'cause you grown, who you 'posed to be? Malone?
I deliver like Post Offices, pre-Post Malones
You'd dick ride if you saw what I don't post on my phone
Every lines a great line, baby, New York's own
It's like I play for Jim Boeheim, boy stay in that zone
This my house, trespassin' I don't condone
Let me be, don't be them two niggas from Home Alone
And get iron in your face tryna roam where you don't belong
Brooklyn, Staten, Queens, Manhattan
The Bronx I stomps through all of that, what happened?
New York, I'm so proud to be your Captain
Enjoy the rappin'
Aight cool, sound good to me
I hear the whispers, like "What's goin' on? He been missin'
He used to run the show it's been a long intermission
I remember the mission he was on, it was different
He was sick, now my nigga done gone in remission"
That's what y'all think? Y'all think I lost my step?
Was on the run, but had to stop and never caught my breath
I'm drenched, I'm on the bench with, like, four more reps
In other words, I got shit left to get off my chest
Comin' up you heard the hunger in me, tough as can be
You couldn't sound cloudy, nigga, nothin' was free
If I ain't get a record deal then I was stuck in the P's with D's
Tryna spot if I had a wonderful stream
Of income, my outcome is somethin' to see
I was in a Jeep, sunk in the seat, beats bumpin'
Tryna out-rap Nasir and keep up wit Jay-Z
Crumblin' sixteens, I was only sixteen
Fast-foward, niggas out here mumblin', B
Why be smart when niggas on the charts dumber than me?
A bunch of bums with more money than me
So stayin' complex, yeah, that's an everyday struggle for me
I'm from when everybody wanted five mics
And Riggs Morales gave you "Unsigned Hype" if you rhymed right
A Stretch Armstrong spin was a highlight
And all the mixtapes was two-for-five like treys of that fire white
I understand why some would retire mics
Pack up turntables, the tables turn, wild right? Huh
But me, I'm in it fully, it's like that one bitch I just
Can't stop f*ckin', man, these beats do something to me
I post up on the throne, don't end up on a highlight
Poster 'cause you grown, who you 'posed to be? Malone?
I deliver like Post Offices, pre-Post Malones
You'd dick ride if you saw what I don't post on my phone
Every lines a great line, baby, New York's own
It's like I play for Jim Boeheim, boy stay in that zone
This my house, trespassin' I don't condone
Let me be, don't be them two niggas from Home Alone
And get iron in your face tryna roam where you don't belong
Brooklyn, Staten, Queens, Manhattan
The Bronx I stomps through all of that, what happened?
New York, I'm so proud to be your Captain
Enjoy the rappin'
Writer: Joell Ortiz
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave