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It's all gangstas gangstas at the top of the list |
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So I play my own shit it goes something like this |
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[Verse One] [Apathy] |
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You can try to shoot a pistol but the wounds are superficial |
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In comparison to heroine addiction when it hits you |
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We're proud to be Americans when arrogance is in you |
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From the second the vagina spits you till you're dyin' a cripple |
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The crime is when we're killin' innocent Iraqi children |
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But what? |
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We should turn to pacifism till crash into our buildings |
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Till the gasses start spillin' over masses of civilians |
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Tryin' to massacre a billion when they pack a transistor into your fillings |
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When the governments the villains |
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When they watch with hidden cameras that's up inside your ceilings |
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It's cold at night |
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Even in the summer I shake |
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I crumble and break while dirty bombs thunder and quake |
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I feel philosophical now, with all that Apathy knows |
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Reality blows |
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So I watch reality shows |
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And feel blanketed when television circuits are bright |
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I'm searchin' at night |
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To channel surf until the perfect light |
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Purchase a wife |
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While fabricated idols gets activated |
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Originality was assassinated |
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I cried when it died |
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Screamin' to help stop the bleedin' |
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But nobody understood the strange language I was speakin' |
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I'm over your head |
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Oversize fitted are skull caps |
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I radiate the way Aviator jackets and throwbacks |
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I go back |
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Before the Rittlin and the Prozac |
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When rap was pro-black |
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You suckers don't know Ap |
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I rip mics |
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But only solve problems with fist fights |
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Just because I'm smooth don't mean that I treat a bitch right |
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My insight extends from sunlight to the twilight |
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But at night I'm ignorant and can't get my mind right |
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[Chorus] [Apathy] [x4] |
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It's all gangstas gangstas at the top of the list |
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So I play my own shit it goes something like this |
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[Verse Two] [Celph Titled] |
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Yo |
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I ain't tryin' to hear nothin' from you so save it |
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No demo tapes I'm only listenin' to my favorites of classic rap greatest hits |
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Why at one time was hip hop music so sacred |
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Now they made it so easy, kids with home computers is makin' it |
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I remember studio sessions were special |
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DAT machines and reel to reels, no CD burners and no mass appeal |
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Too much of somethin' is not good, on the contrary |
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The rap telemarketers are chief executive officer |
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Board room O.G.s in leather swivel chairs |
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Laughin' at the shit we talkin', all them oversize clothes we wear |
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But fuck it |
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We sell murder |
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And sell to herds of |
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Children who hear the same shit that's used to sell burgers |
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But I ain't sympathizin' and you heard it from the horse's mouth |
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Cause I'll bust guns and turn happy homes to an orphan's house |
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One of the best in rap's history to hold a mic |
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And real Cuban who thinks the movie Scarface is over hyped |
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So all you rappers scratch it off your favorite movie list |
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Or find yourself bleeding next to a pile of empty uzi clips |
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Stop idolizin' |
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Get your own style |
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I ain't rockin' gold teeth cause they'll provoke me to smile |
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Though for a while |
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I looked for hope but couldn't see any |
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And it didn't look right like a mohawk on P. Diddy |
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Get them some cheese cake to flaunt |
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But I'd rather sell 3H to juniors and I ain't talkin' about the restaurant |
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[Chorus] [Apathy] [x4] |
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It's all gangstas gangstas at the top of the list |
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So I play my own shit it goes something like this |
