[Chorus: Timbaland]
  People like myself, only hang with self cause that's the way to go
  I can't go outside without findin some new kinfolks
  People on my left, people on my right, all in my earhole
  Make be like whoa and find me somewhere else to go
    [repeat Chorus]
    [Magoo]
  It's Mag from your TV screen, buzzin off the Jim Beam
  But the Mag y'all think y'all know ain't what I seem
  I'm a low-down freak from Seapeak(?)
  See them high school mates, I see 'em and don't speak
  All y'all wanna talk like we used to hang
  Cause I'm doin my thang, now you wanna bask in my fame
  That's why I stay out the club, be in the crib
  Smokin a dub, countin my cash, over the phone
  And I'm sellin cell phones, all with chips
  My nine to bloods, my glock to crips, who want war?
  You and your boys can bring the noise
  But I'ma bring hand grenades, now you're laid!
  Pull out my dick, piss on your bitch-ass
  Sit on your face, now you gotta kiss ass
  Who fiend for fame life belong to your fans
  and haters and thugs that wanna end your lifespan
    [Chorus]
    [Timbaland]
  Uhh, uhh, uhh - since I got bigger (bigger)
  I'm over here and y'all recite Tim's my nigga (nigga)
  Like I just figure (figure)
  And my tracks didn't help niggaz
  So for rememdy I pound niggaz
  Like I keep 'em in DJ's for that new Jigga
  Like them forty-two Girbauds
  I pocket every demo, like Timbaland - he's that next nigga
  Confirmed by people that she can blow
  Convinced Booker T she's the next to go
  Now I'm checkin every joint and every unit I sold
  Once I'm deep in the dough, I'm deep with a crew
  In the 80's y'all screamed like the movie is through
  Y'all screamin this is "Nutty Professor: Part II"
  To "Eyes Wide Shut" to whoever I choose
  I can appreciate a Kidman to a, Tom Cruise
  To a, fast food, I'm strictly drive-through
  The money I gave dudes I basically raised fools
    [Chorus]
    [Magoo]
  Even the phone spit it, God know what I'm thinkin
  I'm drinkin and smokin and stressin, go to church for confession
  Down on my knees, beggin to God, show me the path
  My label is jerkin me workin me so the devil can lurk in me
  Sick of niggaz bitchin, wishin I'd fail
  Tell 'em Mag be the rap effin Kenan and Kel
  I'm spittin the version of verses curses over the churches
  Rappin mo' iller than thriller Manila and give you salmonella
    [Timbaland]
  Stop, the press!
  Bitch, you can't afford that dress, you can't afford that hairdo
  I don't want your sex, here take your fast food
  "Tim you're dead wrong, Tim you're dead rude!"
  Hey girl, I don't even know you
  "Timbaland we're your first cousin Marion Sue"
  My momma never ever mentioned you
  My momma also told me to watch them savage boos, what?
    [Chorus: sung by Static - repeat 2X]