You ain't got enough stamps in your passport to fuck with young H-O
International,
Show y'all young boys how to do this thing

The maturation of Jay-Z, Z
Check me out

30's the new twenty, nigga
I'm so hot still
Better broad, better automobile
Bet a yard, nah, bet a hundred mill
Then by the songs end, I probably start another trend
I know everything you wan do
I did all that by the age of twenty-one
By twenty-two I had that brand new Ack Coupe
I guess you can say that my legend just begun
I'm young enough to know the right car to buy
Yet grown enough not to put rims on it
I got that six-deuce with curtains so you can't see me
And I didn't even have to put tints on it
I don't got the bright watch, I got the right watch
I don't buy out the bar, I bought the night spot
I got the right stock
I got stockbrokers that's movin' it like white tops
I know you like fuck this is child abuse
Call diapers, I might just be gettin' nicer
Them young boys ain't ready for real
30's the new twenty, nigga
I'm so hot still

[Chorus]
I used to let my pants sag, not givin' a fuck
Bad boy, now I'm all grown up
I use to cruise the used car lot, put chrome on the truck
Bad boy, now I'm all grown up
I use to play the block like that (like that)
I use to carry knots like that (like that)
Now I got black cards, good credit and such
Bad boy, 'cause I'm all grown up

30's the new twenty, nigga, I'm on fire still
These young boys is like a fire drills (uh)
False alarms (uh)
Next don? (nah)
He got (on)
To the next one (young)
I'm still here (yeah)
Still here like Mike, gotta stop playin' with these children's (yeah)
I'm a bully with the bucks
Don't let the patten leather shoes fool you, youngin'
I got the fully in the tux
That was my past, now I'm so grown up
I don't got one gun army, got a slum army
To hire a gun army, get you spun like laundry
And I'll be somewhere under palm trees calmly
Listen to R and B when we get the call he's
No longer wit' us, fire your babysitters
You lil' fucks fall back for real
30's the new twenty, nigga
I'm so hot still

[Chorus]

Y'all roll blunts, I smoke Cubans all day
Y'all youngin's chase, I'm Patron, and it's Grey
I like South Beach, but I'm in Saint Tropez
Y'all drink Dom but not Rose (hey)
Your chick shop in the mall
My chick burnin' down Berdolph's
Comin' back with Birken Bags
Your chick is like what type of purse is that?
I'm from the era where niggas don't snitch
You from the era where snitchin' is the shit
I'm afraid of the future (why?)
Y'all respect the one who got shot
I respect the shooter
Y'all go to parties to ice grill
I go to parties to party with nice girls
You young boys gotta chill
30's the new twenty, nigga
I'm so hot still

[Chorus]

Writer : CARTER, SHAWN C/YOUNG, ANDRE ROMELL/BATSON, MARK
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.