This is CD quality, High quality audio, the first single off Tha Carter III. here are the lyrics for the song:I Hate GossipAnd I don't walk around lookin for it, you know?, ButYesterday It Seemed to just wander around until it found me,the gossip found meThen why don't you try proving it.How? You don't know how to prove it?,well, what you just do is...Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop... (Oo)Stop, hatin' on a niggathat is a weak emotionThe lady of a niggaAnd you could get tippedlike ya waitin on a nigga, andPut a body bag and an apron on tha niggaI give my all behind the mic,but you could never see, if you sit behind the lightYou don't have to pick me.. to win the title fightBut I'm gone wear that championship belt so tightAnd if I'm wrong, there is no rightAnd if I'm wrong, there is snow whiteI'm tryna be polite, but you bitches in my hair like the f**kin po-liceMy flow is rare, these other rappers nice,These other rappers bark,Some of em' even biteBut I'm much more brightI give the game sightSo before you dim the lights you just might... might... wannaThink it over (think it over) OoThink it over (think it over) BabyStop... analyzin' criticizin',You should realize what I am and start epidimizin'Confident, I got the heart of the biggest lionconfident like f**k em all, pull out my dick and ride itMy flow sick, so sick, it's like my shit is dyin'It rains a lot in my city, because my citys cryin'Because my citys dyin'But I emerge from all of that, I am a livin pion-eer, sighin.[Gossip lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]Fear God, not themSteer my Robin Coupe through the streets of the boot... andSoo-woopAnd, then I leave tub in the boot, I leave a blood bath,Sorry there's a tub in the boot, now where the drugs at?Like the strings on shoe No nigga f**k thatI'm twisted like the string on a boot, now where New Orleans at?I feel hip hop stole me like a bus passSo in your possession, I must ask...Hey, haven't I been good to you? (Think it over)Tell me, haven't I been sweet to you?Drag my name through the mudI come out cleanCast away stonesI won't even blinkA gun is not a math problem,I won't even thinkJust leave you dead like the minkunder my sinkDon't believe in meDon't believe meI graduated from hungry,and made it to greedyMy flow is like pastaTake it and eat itBut I'ma need g's if I'm bakin' aziti.You niggas want beef?I want a steak and uh, we beLost in Amsterdam or Jamaica where we beHard body nigga, just takin it easyAll about my paper, bout my paper like EazyWhy do rappers, lie to rappers, lieto fans, lot of rappers, lot of rappersLie like actors, cut the mothaf**kin camerasCut the check..f**k your propsI AM hip hop.I'm not dead. I'm alive

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