The rap game, hip-hop 101
The hardest 9-to-5 you’ll ever have
You can’t learn this shit in no history book
You ready to rap, motherfucker?
You ready to sell your soul?
Ha-ha-ha-ha, the rap game, motherfucker
I’m a disrupted nigga, you made me crazy
You should’ve slayed me as a baby, behavin’ shadier
Than Wes Craven and you ain’t even gotta pay me
I take pleasure of layin’ a nigga down daily
You face me, drunk or sober, you’ll faint fast
I’m never fucked up to where I can’t whoop yo’ ass
Your neck’ll get snapped with bare hands; fuck music
Is he rappin’? It’s cool, but, fools, just don’t confuse it
What happens: these dudes get rude, and then I lose it
I’m scandalous, I’ll blow your two kids off the atlas (Waah, waah, waah, waah, waah!)
With a gat that’s bigger than Godzilla’s back, nigga
You are not realer, in fact, you’ll feel the effects
Of a crack dealer, y’all presidents sends me smack
And got a MAC-10 with it, so I ain’t gotta rap
But I’m thankful for that, don’t mistaken me, black
Or you’ll be stankin’ in the back of a fuckin’ Cadillac
I’ma get snuffed, ’cause I ain’t said enough to pipe down
I’ll pipe down when the White House gets wiped out
When I see that little Cheney dyke get sniped out
Lights out, bitch, adiós, goodnight (Ah!)
Now put that in your little pipe and bite down
Think for a minute, ’cause the hype just died down
That I won’t go up in the Oval Office right now
And flip whatever ain’t tied down upside down
I’m all for America, fuck the government
Tell that C. Delores Tucker slut to suck a dick
Motherfucker ducked, what the fuck? Son of a bitch
Take away my gun, I’m gonna tuck some other shit
Can’t tell me shit about the tricks of this trade
Switchblade with a little switch to switch blades
And switch from a six to a sixteen-inch blade
Shit’s like a samurai sword—a sensei
Shit just don’t change to this day
I’m this way, still tell that ut-slay itch-bay
Uck-say my ick-day, ‘scuse my ig-pay atin-lay
But uck-fay you ig-pay (50)
This rap game, this rap game (Yeah!)
I ain’t sellin’ my soul for this rap game
And I ain’t diggin’ no hole for this rap game
Man, I’m tellin’ you: no, it ain’t happenin’
This rap game, this rap game
I ain’t sellin’ my soul for this rap game
I ain’t diggin’ no hole for this rap game
This rap game, this rap game
I bet you’d rather me drink and drown in my own iniquity
But fuck that, I’ma rap ’til y’all all get sick of me
And clutch my nut sack and spit all who pick at me
A pitt and a rott mix, fuck the dogs you sic on me
I’m sayin’, “You, motherfuckers, don’t know us, quit playin'”
If I’m broke, then I’m breakin’ up in the place where you’re layin’
You know—same shit every nigga done in his life
I look at this, why speak on what I want when I write?
So why should I ever fear another man
If he bleed like I bleed, take a piss and he stand?
Okay, you win, you can say we can’t rap
But no
Source
never made me not buy an album when they said, “It was wack”
I walk in that party and just start bustin’
Right after I hear the last verse of “Self Destruction”
This liquor makes me wanna blast the chrome
To let you know the time without Morris Day and Jerome (Nigga)
I’m low down and shifty, quickly call Swifty
To do a drive-by on the tenth speed with 50
You’re feelin’ lucky? Squeeze, I catch you outside of
Chuck E. Cheese with your seed, you be an unlucky G
My lifestyle is unstable: a partyin’ addict
They said, “No fighting in the club”—so I brought me a ‘matic
Coughin’ the static, I jump niggas—call me a rabbit
Poppin’ the tablet and guns that saw you in half with
Believe me, we run this rap shit, fo’ sheezy
Make makin’ millions look easy (Yeah!)
Everywhere you turn, you see me
You hear me, believe me (Woo!)
Before you see my pistol in 3D
No time to call a peace treaty
Dial 911, ‘cause you need the
Police to help you, believe me
I snatch the chalk from the sidewalk and piss on the curb
This is absurd, these street niggas twistin’ my words
We finally could say goodbye to Hollywood
‘Cause Proof and Sean Penn, shit, nothing in common
The nastiest band with gats in each hand
We never bow down to be a flash in the pan
No remorse; fuck your stature, dog
Nothing to do with hands when I clap at y’all
Put your jaw on the ground with the four and the pound
Then I’m gone outta town ‘fore the law come around
So we can battle with raps, we can battle with gats
Matter of fact, we can battle for plaques
This rap game
I’m too fuckin’ retarded
I don’t give a fuck about my dick, that’s why I’m datin’ Lorena Bobbitt
My crew had an argument, who was the largest
Now they all is dead and I roll as a solo artist
Plus I made the beats and wrote all the raps
Well, I really didn’t, but I did according to this contract
I was thrown in the snow with nowhere to go
Freezin’ 20 below, forced to join Bel Biv Devoe
My little girl, she shouldn’t listen to these lyrics
That’s why I glued her headphones to her ear to make sure she hear it
If rap don’t work, I’m startin’ a group with Garth Brooks
Ha-ha-ha-ha, 50, sing the hook
This rap game, this rap game (Yeah!)
I ain’t sellin’ my soul for this rap game
And I ain’t diggin’ no hole for this rap game
Man, I’m tellin’ you: no, it ain’t happenin’
This rap game, this rap game
I ain’t sellin’ my soul for this rap game
I ain’t diggin’ no hole for this rap game
This rap game, this rap game
Yeah, yeah, yeah!
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