Know Bout Me lyrics

[Intro: Jay-Z]

We gotta sell these bitches the dream, my nigga

Niggas like Walt Disney around this bitch

[Verse 1: Timbaland]

You're in the presence of the real

Can't fathom where I'm at, baby, pop another pill

In a whole another reel

If you want to make a movie let me know

It's a whole another film

I suggest you get your dress for the Golden Globes

What you know about Tim

Top down, the Aventador, 4 AM

On the sunset strip

Trying to get high at the sunset, baby don't trip

Hollywood lights, Miami nights

I'm on a motherfucking binge

Just might go and buy a Benz

Or trade a car for your friends

Oh yeah, we playing with them M's

[Hook: Timbaland]

Ridin' down Collins with my entourage following

Just left SoHo headed to the Go-Go

Lap dance for the girls

Let her put her hands on the curves

You ain't about that life, you scurred

Ah, baby, you scurred like skrrt to the crib

What you know about the kid

What you know bout me, what you know bout me

What you know bout me, what you know bout me

Not a muthafuckin thing, not a muthafuckin thing

Not a muthafuckin thing, not a muthafuckin thing

[Verse 2: Drake]

I just got back home, 40 days on vacation

No one killing the game, shit is all for the taking

What the fuck did I stutter? am I being mistaken?

I'm a s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-star in the makin'

Who you said was the man? What the fuck is a deal

Really do it the best, I'm DJ Khaled for real

Got my thumb on the pulse, got impeccable timin'

If they forgot about my worth, I got a check to remind 'em

Got some things on the wrist, Cartier with the diamonds

If this was 10 years ago nigga would've went diamond

I been singing and rapping I make a killin' in both

If I had to choose a Jackson man I'm feelin' like Bo

Fresh down to the socks, team look like the Raiders

I don't take this shit for granted, I'd like to thank my creator

I'm coming b-b-b-b-b-b-b-back on you haters

I'm 'bout to put this bitch on her back and get back to you later

Man, what's up

[Hook: Timbaland]

[Outro: James Fauntleroy]

Imagine straight from work to the plane, ain't no baggage claim

Don't need to change your clothes, girl, or your last name

Motherfuckers want to act like I'm a call

If you want to be a star, girl you need a co-star

Got some bitches we can call up, babe

Now they want to know who you are and how you got there

Girl, I can try to care, oh, get you out of here

You and all this gold on me

On a plane going home, not as you want

What you motherfuckers know about me?