Jimmy Iovine

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis

I put my life on the line

I'm on and bassin', I'm fine

Cuz all I ever dreamt about was making it

They ain't giving it, I'm taking it

I'm taking it, taking it, I ain't giving it

I'm taking it, taking it, I ain't giving it

I'm taking it, taking it, I ain't giving it

I'm taking it, taking it, I need all that shit

Nobody winnin' this slogurr

The police would've noticed

Gotta be strategic, I'm creepin'

Go and leave with that motive

Hold up, my plan is stormin'

All right, casin' this building

Watch these rappers that rap

And walk in and leave that with millions

Cut of that sweater, open that front door

And it's gold printed out by the entrance door closes

Then a metaphor, then I start chorus

That part, that's right, meaning shotgun

Dressed in an uniform, looking like a janitor

All blue, jumpsuit, why shoot?

Bloodthirsty and I'm bloody like a bull

Looking in the eyes of the matador (fuck you!)

Carrying 2 cans of paint

Security looks at me awkward

I say third floor I'm late

painting Jimmy Iovine's office

holdin' my breath "˜bout to fade

I'm scared to death that he stops me

Heart beating so loud you can hear the echo in that lobby

And see I'm breakin' down if I don't make it out

Then I'm leaving town with that contract

And I'm spazzing out, I'm either in or out

This chair and I'm taking them hostage

I don't give a fuck, step into the elevator press three

Now I'm headed up (east)

Where they don't know there's a gun I the paint can

And I'm ready and willing to bust "˜em, fuck' desperate

Stuck in this recession not what you think

But if I sell out my luck is destined

Might future depends on ink

And secretary at the front of the entrance staring right at me

I walk up, she whispers go ahead and then gives me a wink

I put my life on the line

I'm on and bassin', I'm fine

Cuz all I ever dreamt about was making it

They ain't giving it, I'm taking it

I'm taking it, taking it, I ain't giving it

I'm taking it, taking it, I ain't giving it

I'm taking it, taking it, I ain't giving it

I'm taking it, taking it, I need all that shit

I go past security, the secretary, the cubicals

But it's weird, it's like this room I've walked into is unusual

Thought it'd be shiny and beautiful

Thought it'd be alive and like musical

But it feels like someone died, it's got the vibe of a funeral

There's numbers on the chalkboard

CD's box, they cardboard

Artists they foxed that got dropped and never got to be sophomores

Cover designers are sitting around

Waiting for albums that never come out

Complainin' that they have nobody in house

Wonderin' what they make art for