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Hip pop, they tap dance to sell a mil |
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While real emcees with skills don't got a deal |
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It's industry conspiracy to make us savage |
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Take off ya clothes to go gold, sell ya soul to live lavish |
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[Verse One] |
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It seems every man wanna be a pop star |
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It's obvious to me that you forgot who you are |
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These labels will have you wearing high heels and a bra |
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Cut the roots to ya tree and watch ya empire fall |
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Now hip hop is a tree, and trees live by their roots |
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All the roots live underground, water down me no salute! |
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They pimping the culture, the same vulture who stole ya agriculture |
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My vocab is ultra, I insult ya or nurture ya sculpture |
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It's like to get a record deal, you gotta get naked and kneel |
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Labels ain't checking for skills no more, they want sex appeal |
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No publishing checks in the mail |
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Don't you know when you become a slave to money |
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That's when you destined to fail |
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You swallowing so you can sell a million records |
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On magazine front covers butt naked |
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Used to be a queen who was highly respected |
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Now when I listen to ya album, shit get ejected |
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I didn't get the album out, somebody cock blocked it |
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In 99 I smacked the blackball right in the side pocket |
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When I drop it take ya plaque to the pawn shop and hock it |
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I'm taking all y'all money this year, extorting ya profit |
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Y'all got greedy and went commercial |
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And ya label's still jerking you |
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I'm starving all y'all niggaz this year, take it personal |
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[Chorus] |
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[Verse Two] |
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Cause they shiesty, labels are shiesty |
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Ya manager's stroking you, saying shows are promotional |
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Cause they shiesty, niggaz are shiesty |
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Stupid, the main niggaz who helped you get on |
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The first niggaz you shit on |
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You'll realize who love you when all ya money's giddone |
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They're smiling in ya face |
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Cause right now you're putting cake on their plate |
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Them the same niggaz that's scheming on ya safe - word! |
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It's the ones that sniff coke witcha, from broke to richer |
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Now they wanna cut ya throat and come and getcha |
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Ya fake acapellas can't really rock a farvela crowd |
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Ya head is full of helium, you floating in the clouds |
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On stage fronting like the solo type |
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Cloned my hip hop chromosomes, deep down you know Shabazz ya prototype |
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Don't even know how to hold the mic, trippin over the cables |
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Mumbling and stumbling into the turntables |
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Tap dancing, juggling, shuffling their feet smiling |
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The type of niggaz I be snuffing while their freestyling |
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Whether you're gold or you're platinum, I'm robbing and gatting them |
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And slapping them with an aluminum bat and busting a cap in them |
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Duct taping and gagging them, make 'em deep throat the magnum |
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Trapping them in alleys, where we're beating stomping and dragging them |
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**** selling my soul for that mansion and a yacht |
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I'd rather make salat and scrape the bottom of the pot |
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Real soldiers survive with 3 hots and a cot |
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You can't take them riches in the ground when you rot |
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Must have forgot, ya fans bought you to that altitude |
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And now you left them astray, ego got you confused |
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Son I be browsing, they tryna trap us all in public housing |
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How niggaz classic albums only sell 200 thousand |
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Labels be running sound scams on ya cream |
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That makes niggaz susceptible on going mainstream, they pulling ya strings |
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With marketing schemes extorting the fiends |
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They ain't gonna never tell you how many records you sold seen |
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Peace to all emcees staying true to their root |
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Don't sell their soul for the loot |
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And planting seeds in the youth and **** the |
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[Chorus] |
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[Outro] |
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Hip pop, hip pop, hip pop we shoot |
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Empires will fall when you cut the trees root |
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Hip pop, hip pop, hip pop we shoot |
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Empires will fall when you cut the trees root |
