Resurrection (Remix)

German engineered for the American dream,

me and my team scheme to get cream and green by any means,

dreams of livin' with million dollar screens playin' flicks,

new kicks and whips, chips, jacuzzies like movie scenes,

no more triple beams, nah just plenty cream, money trees,

green and up in magazines, and rap under regimes,

it seems we could rule with our lyrical themes, vaccines,

the way we're sick, the war machine, by any means,

or extremes, guns from Italy, medicines from China,

sippin' fine wines, design more shines than diamond miners,

set it off, I set the pace, you're fuckin' up like sex in space,

levitate you featherweight and send ya straight to heaven's gates,

I've got the force, my soldiers call me Mace Windu,

put a dot up on your head, now your new religion's Hindu,

hip hop, come back, fuck the diamonds and Rolex watch,

jazz and funk vibes are oozing, music's at the next stop,

we keep the Tec locked, but forgot we got problems,

rock it to the tip top and never hit the rock bottom,

me and my crew relax, chill, and vibe, no pistols here,

countin' money every day and make more than your fiscal year,

makin' all our worries and our struggles just disappear,

no more constant troubles, through the rubble I see crystal clear,

rap, I'm gonna miss you dear, I'll always keep droppin',

and poppin', lockin', never stoppin', the skill you ain't toppin',

we see the vision, like Baby Jesus in the manger,

release waves of anger, nah, just tapes full of bangers,

that's my main shit, and still we party with this song on,

Resurrection, Common, but the days of "C.R.E.A.M" are long gone,

cash rules everything around me, with the song on,

then bumpin' Jay Z and stunting, fronting like a Don Juan,

watching "Yo, MTV Raps", "Cribs", and "Sweet 16's",

I deliver Sweet 16's, reign supreme and chill with teams,

no more triple beams it seems, dreams are comin' true,

nothing more than release classics, it's always somethin' new,

I remember when we'd fly and duck over piece of paper,

and everyday we'd pray to God and think we'd meet the makers,

used to the think I couldn't make it, never taste the sweet flavors,

of fame, in this game I aim to be a name elite as Frazier,

when he beat the Lakers in '70, serve 'em well,

and give 'em Illmatic rhymes, hot and fresh, we the waiters,

everyday I'd play and rapture, bumpin' that Anita Baker,

nah that doesn't matter, just relax and free your mind