Queen Bee

July 2010 (1)

Storming down towards the studio, Marshall was close on my heels as he tried his best to keep up with my quick moving legs. Having listened to Nicki's new Pink Friday album, I was sent into an absolute frenzy when I heard Roman's Revenge. I always knew she was gonna be taking shots at me on this record, it was a given. Especially considering the fact that Wayne was able to coax Marshall into a verse, I knew full well the kind of shit that was about to be spewed at me, but I had no idea it would be like this. 

Blazin', the track Marshall did a verse for, I had absolutely no worries about. He had let me listen to the song in full after his verse was done for it, so I knew at least what that one was gonna be all about, but I was certainly not prepared for a whole entire diss track. I thought at best, there would be a few shots thrown here and there, but nothing major. She'd have to be fuckin' stupid to release a whole diss against me, or at least thats what I told myself. And you know what? Turns out I was right. She has no idea the kinda shit she just unleashed, but she will soon. 

"Baby, just chill, okay?! Ya ain't even givin' it any time to sink in!" Marshall's concerned tone rang from behind me as I busted through the studio doorway. 

Turning on my heel, I pushed a stern finger into his chest. "I don't need to give it any time to sink in, Marshall. I've had this verse in my back pocket for weeks, and if you ain't wanna help me 'cause you got all your lil' friends down at Young Money, fine, but stay the fuck outta my way." Turning back around, I stomped my way towards the soundboard as I began flipping everything on. 

"Baby, it ain't got nothin' to do with them, you're just bein' so fuckin' reactive right now!" 

"That was this bitch's last chance, Marshall, and I'm done. I wasn't gonna record it if I didn't have to, but she ain't givin' me any other option." Flipping the last switch on, I quickly grabbed my notebook from the chair. "You helpin' me or not?" I snapped.

Sighing, he nodded as he began making his way towards the soundboard. "Yeah, I'ma help you." 

"Good." Stomping my way to the booth, I threw my headphones on as quickly as I could before jabbing my thumb in the air telling him I was ready. Listening as the familiar Pharoahe Monch beat began to fill my ears, I inhaled a deep breath, waiting for the correct count as I tried my best to settle the adrenaline pumping throughout my veins. Well, I did say I needed something raw and angry on this record, didn't I?

"Who the fuck want war?/Fed Ex beef, straight to your front door/It'll be a murder scene/I'm turnin' Pink Friday to Friday the 13th/Aight you lil' Angel clone clown/All this buffoonery, this shit stops now/Time for you to lay down, I'm sick of the frauds/I put hands on this bitch like a spa massage/We all know your last name's what got you a job/You's a put together gimmick, somethin' like a collage/Since you puttin' on the show, you gon' get the applause/Clap, clap, lift ya frame like a fuckin' garage/This hood shit, you and Drake ain't built for/This the shit Fifty almost got killed for/I'm still countin' what Hardcore generated/Bet my shit keeps spinnin' like it's syndicated/Corny broad, I'll leave you bloody like you menstruated/You hot air ass bitch, should have been deflated/This ain't a championship fight, I been the greatest/See the fact is what you doin', I did it/Lames tryna clone my style and run with it/That's cool, I was the first one with it/You's an Angel wannabe, you just hate to admit it/I'm the blueprint, you ain't nothin' brand new/Check ya posters and videos, you'll always be number two/I've seen them come, I've seen them go, still I remain/Sweetie, you goin' on your fourteenth minute of fame/I'm over ten years strong, still runnin' the game/Cut the comparisons, I'm in a legendary lane/Fightin' for a spot? Child please, I'm solidified/With my hands tied, you couldn't beat me if you bitches tried/Either you high or sippin' that shit Wayne on/I get top dollar for whatever my name on/Go stick your head in tornado, brain storm/I drop bombs, flex, napalms/Black and yellow, we'll pull up in your ghetto/Giuseppes when I step out, posted up in stilettos/Pussy so pink like my kitty sayin' hello/If I whistle, they'll pistol whip you in all five boroughs/I'm from Brooklyn, I be everywhere comfortably/Now who pumped you and told you to come romp with me?/You the type to run your mouth and then run from me/I'm poppin' off in your hood with no company/Come on, Queen's ain't showin' you no love/I was there the other night poppin' bottles with the thugs/You like Washington, heffa, I'm Benji/You got a buzz right now, I had a frenzy/Oh yeah, welcome to the fam, Fendi/You need to stop, you're not hot, you're a burnin' match/That means the end is near soon, copy that?/Oh, I see, they really got you gassed, like I'm a thing of the past?/Better slow down, dummy, you 'bout to crash/Stank pussy hoe, I'm givin' you a bath/Thermometer in hand and I'm comin' for your ass/Who you think you gettin' past?/I see right through you, your whole shit is made of glass."