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Hey You! (Yeah you!) Could you do me a favor
And get a pad and some paper and jot the words of this savior
You need to turn that radio right off
right off right off right off right off right off
Well son Iâll tell ya boy
The media theyâll tell ya boy
That SUPERMANâs a good song
When itâs really killin culture boy
These dudes that dance donât rap
Cause rappers they donât dance
They know how to produce a hit
Same formula in every track
Thatâs not art thatâs just wrong
Same ol shit in every song
But zombies they just sing along, yo letâs be strong, and bring it on
And put an end to the cut and paste
The lyrically waste of space
Stop putting money in their pockets and just punch them in the fucking face!
But shh, I got a secret, theyâre all just playing tough
Real gangstas died out years back, these new kids homeslice theyâre all talk
They do it for the paper bill, to get a grill, and make a mill
So fake they donât know who they are, they donât know how to keep it real
So let me ask you, did ya hear what I said?
Of course you did baby Iâm all engrained in you head
So listen up, pay attention, gonna start a revolution
Theyâve over stayed their welcome
Beefyâs got the solution, push em
Out your mind, out your heart, or over a cliff
Yo if grunge rock had to die, I would say that pop hop is next
Cause they donât bring nothing to the table not already there
That shits been played since I was a youngin gripping on a teddy bear
So while they holla âpaper paper, dolla bills yallâ
âIâm stright from the block yall, reaching for my steel yallâ
Iâll get competitive, a nerdy representative
Theyâre rapping for the pride and Iâm just rapping for the hell of it
Woop Woop! Yeah Yeah! Those are not lyrics
You are raping the spirits of the dead MCs who would feel it
And they would grip the mic and tell us all their stories and it was real from them
All ya do is leech from them, ya might as well be paying them