Tell me how you like it. Right about now, I know y'all digging this, so just turn up your radio, wherever you at, we about to bring it. This is Wyclef Jean up here with Cannabis working the night ***. Yo, we want all the ladies to put your hands in the air and sing this song with us. Yo R. Kelly, you ready? Come on. Now every time I make a run, girl you turn around and cry. I ask myself, oh why, oh why? So you've got to understand, I can't work a nine to five. So I'll be gone till November. Tell me that he's in my mail. Yo, I'll be gone till November. Standing on the block with a swag, yeah. R. Kelly rocks, guaranteed to get set up. Black rookie cop, DJ. Mind bells, I know it's wrong. I wrote this rap song, forgive me when I'm wrong. Me and Cannabis, we working the night ***, ***, ***. I got it made. Hey, last word from the hustler. Hey young Clef, take care of your mother. Look at him and reply, yo daddy, where you going? He said to Baltimore, he'll be back in the morning. Gave my mama a hug for her soul when she cry. Every man want heaven, no man want die. Vanish through the door, all I saw was his shadow. Heard my uncle go, I don't wanna be a widow. That's when I realized, death was ahead. Old man pulled up in a black caravan. With some dark skinned brothers who look Cecelia. Singing, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on. Chicken, you can't stop the shining. You wanna stop the shining? Well, why? Every time I make a run, girl, you turn around and cry. I ask myself why, oh why? You need muscle for the hustle. See, you must understand. You can't work a nine to five. So I'll be gone till November. Tell me, tell me, Shell, my girl. Yo, I'll be gone till November. Standing on the block where the spark get hot. Telling rock, guaranteed to get set up. Black rookie got it. Tell me, tell me, Shell, my girl. I know it's wrong. I wrote this rap song. Forgive me when I'm gone. Me and Count the bits, we working in that ***. Me and Clef, we ready to get it on. The three and a half pound organ embedded in our skulls is what makes us better than y'all. I'm telling you, God, ain't nobody repping this hard. This gang is called Relays Hell to the Heaven's Hall. Me and my Fuji affiliates building with plans to make millions over a fly game of billions. Black Sicilians, the descendants of West Indian pilgrims with the power to collapse buildings. Riding across the ocean floor like Poseidon on a seahorse to reach our overseas floors. By the middle of March when the pregnancy starts and my lady's placenta, I'll be gone till November. Come on. Now every time I make a run, girl, you turn around and cry. I ask myself, oh, why, oh, why? You need my support also. Uh-huh. So you've got to understand, I can't work a nine to five. So I'll be gone till November. Tell me, tell me, Shell, my girl. Yo, I'll be gone till November. Standing on the block where the swag get hot. Tell him I'm coming to get you, dog. Buy a cookie, dog. Ooh, yeah. My man. I know it's wrong. I wrote this rap song. Forgive me when I'm wrong. Me ain't kind of bitch. We work in the night. Said, let's do this. Are you up? I'll meet you. So, so, so, so. You gave the feds more info than Sammy the Bo-Gravano. Jeremiah wore the wire. Snitch on Zachariah. And we turned the feds off for the throne of Neb Codanza. Trust me, you don't want to be the one we bring it to. Our lyrical, connected rap career is real miserable. You ain't invincible. All we got to do is get pissed at you. Point you out to some people that have physically injured you. It's like, Lord, take this ass whipping some more. Like Jay-Z, put pause. Someone pass the gauze. Now every time I make a run. Girl, you turn around and cry. I ask myself, oh, why, oh, why? You need myself for the hustle. So you've got to understand. I can't work a nine to five. So I'll be gone.