Shorty I know what you need
I got everything you need
I promise I ain't gonna hold out either
I'ma give it all to you baby
It's on, bust it

[Chorus: 1- Busta Rhymes 2- Mariah Carey]

[1] - Baby if you give it to me
I'll give it to you
I know what you want
You know I got it
Baby if you give it to me
I'll give it to you
As long as you want
You know I got it

[2] - Baby if you give it to me
I'll give it to you
I know what you want
You know I got it
Baby if you give it to me
I'll give it to you
As long as you want
You know I got it

[Verse 1: Spliff Star]
We been together for a few years
Shared a few tears
Called each other nicknames
Like Sugar Plum and Poo Bear
I'm always on the road
I'm hardly ever home
Always busy this busy that
Can't talk on the phone
I know you aggrevated
Walk around frustrated
Ya patience gettin' short
How long can you tolerate it
Listen ma I'm just motivated
I do this for us
Step on the grind tryin' to elevate it now

[Verse 2: Baby Sham]
Hey yo to really be honest
You stuck with me through my whole struggle
Can't express the words
How much the kid loves ya
I'ma stand as a man never above ya
I can tell that you different from most
Slightly approach you
And that ill **** about it
We gon' sex every day
But when we sex we tease
In a passionate way
I love the way you touch it
Those little elaborate ways
Got the guard feelin' released
To relax for the day
It's on you ma

[Chorus 1- Busta Rhymes 2- Mariah Carey]

[Verse 3: Busta Rhymes]
Shh, mami listen
I feel ya love for me baby
And how it move through you
I been longin' for the moment
To talk the truth to you
Listen, I'm never home
I always get up and go
Puttin' you through the unnecessary rigga-ma-ro
I never meant to put a thousand pounds
Of stress on ya head
I love the way we sleep
And always cuddle in bed
Baby, I stay embracin' ya patience
Sheddin' ya tears with me
I ask you my mami
Please continue to bear with me

[Verse 4: Rah Digga]
We started out broke
Constantly on a roll
Cuttin' up in the streets like we would never get old
Went from Lucy's and buses to fifty cent sodas
And Novas to Hondas to Lexus to Rovers
Mad years passed
Still got each other back
Word is bond never screw none of these industry cats
We like Scull and Mulder
Walkin' shoulder to shoulder
Milkin' this game watchin' our seeds gettin' older

[Chorus 1- Busta Rhymes 2- Mariah Carey]

[Verse 5: Busta Rhymes]
Yes you know I'll die for you
And ya know I'll ride with you
I will always try with you
And give ya my love and cry with you

[Verser 6: Mariah Carey]
I will climb a mountain high
Until I was up to touch the sky
So baby come and get more close to me
This is where your love is supposed to be

[Verse 7 : Rampage]
I pull up to the house in a yellow Lamborghini
It's been a few months in PA you haven't seen me
Ya lookin' good in that Gucci bikini
38 carats ya ring lookin' freezy
No matter what I do in the world you never leave me
Fall back ma I'll make ya lifestyle easy
I appreciate the things ya do to please me
Lookin' at my daughter you'll never do me greasy

[Chorus 1- Busta Rhymes 2- Mariah Carey]

[Busta Rhymes speaking with Mariah ad-libs]
Flipmode Records, J Records
Def Jam Records
Busta Rhymes...Mariah
Flipmode Squad, yeah
So beautiful
Ah-ha I knew you was gon' give me that high note
Mariah
Ah-ha-ha yeah

sell out.

i hate you MM youy are such a ass face

and how the **** am i a sell out???????

The girl in that video is PHoine, with a capital PH.

Originally posted by AgonY^x0
and how the **** am i a sell out???????

stupid, I was talking about Busta Rhythm.

oh hahahahhahaahahaha why do u call me names?????????? i swear you arent very nice

Of course I'm nice.

http://www.users.on.net/bobbyeow/andrewj.jpg

no u suck

I suck nothing, you suck

nope

Religion in general and Christmas in particular have always been difficult subjects for me. Since I certainly and steadfastly proclaim my strong belief in being absolutely unsure about my religious convictions, Christmas has posed a dilemma from the beginning of my adult life.
But when I was a child it was a different story. I loved Christmas even more than most kids of my confused generation. Every holiday season, my mother's long-time friend always tells the story of how I would hang my stocking on the fireplace as soon as the last 4th of July fireworks fizzled, and would have the Christmas mail-order catalogs memorized by Halloween. Even the crass commercialization, of which in my youthful ignorance I was blissfully oblivious, had its appeal.

From my father I learned very early on that Christmas was the time of year when his business, the family bakery, made money. Things got so busy around the Otterbein house during the holiday season, my dad would get so desperate for help that he would pile some of us nine kids in to the old Plymouth stationwagon and head, not to grandmother's, but to the bakery. Safely inside and kept warm by the large rotating-shelf oven, we would cut paper-thin sugar cookies that he sold by the ton to keep the family fed and clothed all year.

But now my feelings about Christmas are not so sugarplum sweet. I know that I'm not the first cranky-old-man who has lost his childhood innocent love of the holidays. Yet I am not haunted by the likes of Dickens's fictional Jacob Marley and his woeful companions who tormented the ultimate hero of the story, Ebenezer Scrooge.

The ghosts of Christmas past stir not a bone in my body and while the ghosts of Christmas-present haunt me in the form of my own children plying for the most expensive presents. The ghost of Christmas-future does not scare me with his shroud-hidden skeleton-face pointing to my inevitable lonely-grave.

No, instead I'm haunted by ghosts of did I buy enough for my kids to keep me from feeling guilty as hell on Christmas morning. Was it the right kind of Barbie? Should I have gotten my son another video game because his pile of toys doesn't look like enough when compared to his sisters?

So again this year, I will rush to join the countless other lost souls who fight for our undeniable right to buy the perfect present, only to find that we are all haunted by the ghost of crowded malls.

And then there is the ghost of Christmas handouts, because this is the season every charity in the country decides to call at dinnertime asking for money to feed homeless children while I'm trying to fix my two-pound T-bone. Which again reminds me of my father because the non-profit agency I work for gets it's biggest donations at this time of year, which in turn keeps my family fed and clothed all year.

Perhaps most scary, maybe even more horrifying than holiday-celebrating politicians, is the ghost of Christmas reruns. From Charlie Brown to Kathy Lee the airwaves are full of jingle-bell-laden specials convincing us to clutter our lives with flickering lights and brightly colored plastic ornaments made into idols of fat bearded-men. With their cherry-red outfits and sugar-sweet songs they rattle on like horse-drawn sleds, prodding us to get our buying done before loved ones are disappointed to the point of life-long therapy sessions.

And like many others, I end up haunted for months to come by the ghost of Christmas is over and now it's time to begin paying off the left-over spirits of credit-card debt who terrorize us with haunting specters of mortgage default and bankruptcy court.

So I can't help but to sympathize with Ebenezer Scrooge's predicament and I wonder how Dickens would have had his hero view the Christmas of 1997 if he could write from beyond his grave. I'm not talking about the pre-redemption Scrooge with his appetite for gruel and greed, but the Scrooge at the end of the story who lifted little Tiny Tim upon his shoulders and frolicked in the snow while tipping his hat with good will to all.

I wonder what this man who was said to have kept Christmas as well as any other, would think of our months-long search for gifts to quench our insatiable appetite for the quaint and expensive to placate our inner demons of guilt who wait patiently for us to forget something.

Would he have regretted that his own story of a newfound love for Christmas has been used by the clever and industrious to garner obscene profits at the expense of harried-parents? Could he share our angst over children who after exposure to thousands of commercials are programmed to become teary-eyed when dad picks out last-years doll instead of the brand-new computerized model?

Would Mr. Scrooge disapprove of our self-indulgent ways with a bah-humbug or would he dance and sing on the Kathy Lee special? If it turned out that he cared not for the bright-lights and strips of foil-colored plastic put overnight upon his tree, would he again be viewed suspiciously as an incorrigible enemy of Father Christmas?

And when he heard the wandering spirits who cry out, begging him to open his eyes to the suffering multitudes that lie in misery outside his very own window, would he greedily vote Republican or, even more miserly, become a "new" Democrat?

Or, like I on this loud and frantic holiday, would he hide shaking alone in his room, frightened to the core by the ghosts of Christmas '97?