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First and foremost...don't ever get this twisted: I'm a writer not a rapper. Been writing since 8th grade and I'm currently a freshman Duck at the University of Oregon.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #3,672
Peak in subgenre #1,951
Author
ZeemUO
Uploaded
December 23, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.6 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Story behind the song
It's difficult watching people vibe complete nonsense. Musicians, especially in hiphop are given more power than any journalist, politician, professional athlete or collegiate cuz they directly connect to the youth...yet all we hear is the same old bullshit, and yal know what I'm talkin about...Listen closely and try n' feel me on this one.
Lyrics
I’ll keep reaching for the stars, opposite of Hershey, unbreakable bars.
I see destiny a far, way deep in the distance with nobody there to aid,
Across this overrated mainstream, past the who-ya-know barricade.
Engaged in concentration while scripting my thoughts,
Catching everything that happens around us like Randy Moss.
Exhausted in this repetitious fitness, running around the clubs as business.
Slashing checks off the sin list, it’s like a track ain’t a statement,
Pretending their style ain’t been ancient, a mental engravement
I’m thirsty aching, sweaty competing over the game while these prissy cats are only participating
For them, why be patient? Every trend and hook they lend is hotter than Satan.
Their job will never be vacant, but I’ll stand her writing and waiting,
In the dark and the Eugene rain, mighty drops got the ink on the paper starting to drain.
Maintaining composure through this hurricane occupation,
Stationed in the blunt rotation,
And never faking for the club scene or a label’s appreciation.
I’m writing a thesis, and I swear every emcee needs this,
Find new ideas like Kanye and jesus, back ya words up like Eric Gagne defense.
whatever breeds something thought provoking,
If you can’t feel me when I don’t speak of, human target scoping, prosperous drinks flowing,
On the come up promoting, crack smoking, slanging and holding,
You gots to be joking, I’m hoping they know their actions will later unfold,
Karma’s a bitch, and blue lake cold, showing up suddenly uninvited at ya threshold.
Acting like pro’s, as if they lost from the truth,
Don’t yal know, real hustlers are in the streets and not in the booth.
Look what the fuck happened to Snoop, Outkast Puff and Mase,
Nelly from his st. lunatic days, and Eminem, no matter what Duck will say.
They will never betray the crave for a heavy briefcase,
Mary Jane disgrace, no intricate fantazing, while I’m taking yal all aboard to bud smoker’s island.
I’ll be rapping in silence, til a opportunity cranks up my volume,
When that happens, it'll hit your brain harder than the sandiest shrooms.
To me, the business is funnier than Lawrence Luv Gable,
I’d rather be choked by a cop with noose than any extortionist label.
Like being paid in jail, where your pride is the bail,
Frail as a skeleton, softer than breast gelatin,
Mouth bigger than a Pelican, can’t fail so these rappers don’t try to win.
The person in the mirror is a friend again, and no longer an adversary,
Lyrically contrary, unaware soul, heart, passion combined is verbally scary.
Compare me to what you see on tv, and I’ll tell you why I’m opposite,
I don’t hide my image like JaRule hidden in a closet, I rap logic, no need for profit,
No way to dodge it, the 12-6 curves these rappers are pitching,
Boycotting on strike since Pac set down the mic, so please start to listen,
We can use our words for fiction, but please notice these emcee’s contradictions.
Killing and then chilling in church, procrastination and hard 9-to-5 work.
Similar perks, poverty lyrics coming up, then the dollar sign in their life inserts
Reciting this verse dedicating to those sucked in by the leeches,
Murdering my soul day-by-day, bury me with a Marley J, and I’ll be resting in pieces.
