I Don't Care (Album Version (Edited)) (Feat. Dom) (Edited Ver.)

Hook x2: Dom I don't care, as long as the bassline's pumpin' The drumline bangin' away Make one move and I'll blow you away One false move and I'll blow you away Verse 1: Black Thought Yo, I don't really know but somebody said That the O.G. flow, it could fuck witcha head And the po-lice know that the green black and red Too strong to con-trol, they study what I said Dig it my name is 'Riq, and when I'm on the mic I'm known to spit somethin that these MC's hate I couldn't care less what you feel, what you say 'Cause I gotta put it to you in my own special way I'm a MONSTER You know I'm certified sick I came from the corner where nobody got shit Took the cards I was dealt, turned it into hot spit Now I'm not only a passenger, I'm in the cockpit Been a long time comin', I was caught in the scramble Of cats, tryin' to do the same thing that they man do Eagles born to fly, rivers made to ramble A Dangerous Mind, I'm a prime example Hook x2: Dom Verse 2: Black Thought Super-fans wanna run up on me sparkin' the ground up You need to fall back, could be NARC's around us You in a hot area for marchin' powder If you holdin' chowder, just walk without it Them real crook brothers don't talk about it They never make a move 'til they thought shit out, kid I knew a lot of men who did bids for mayhem They made a lot of money, they money never made them The game of survival is filled with rivals Knives and fo'-five slugs flyin' in spirals The wicked is diseased and it ain't all viral Could be greed and gluttony bubblin' inside you Dawg, follow your pride, the rhythm'll guide you Yo, follow them guys, them niggas'll rob you And have you up in somethin' that don't really involve you But you don't give a fuck, you wanna pump the volume, I know Hook x2: Dom Verse 3: Black Thought Yo, aiyyo, the waistline thumpin', the face kinda jumpin' The game lookin' sweeter than a bassline bumpin' Don't come 'round these parts and waste time frontin' Them trick-ass marks'll get the eight-five dumpin' It ain't really 'bout nothin' Philly just love cuttin' They shut shit down before the law start shuttin' Get your route right, cousin Be out nightclubbin', relaxed And wanna get lights out tonight brother, perhaps It's the percussion that keeps shit, kinetic For some it ain't as fame, more sweet the street credit Some cats that play dirty didn't live, to regret it But move to the music, he can live through the record I'm a Philly boss player, a dope rhyme sayer It's Black Ink back, gettin' cake by the layer By the stack, comin' at us, get your weight right, yeah If not, you makin' a mistake right there, for real Hook x4: Dom