The Rap Game

Yeah, it's a fucked up game were in man
You know

[Verse 1:]

Yo, it's getting harder for the people around to make me smoke
I sign autographs at shows, then go straight to work
I see kids I know getting chips to rap
And I don't understand it, 'cause I think these kids are wack
And I'm just sitting back and watching, like what the fuck
Did they make this corny shit just to get their numbers up
Well something's up, and I'll get to the basement
Hip-Hop isn't dead, you guys just started liking gay shit
Face it, these guys don't say shit
They're just actors, with big gold chains, and shiny bracelets
But I'll be damned if I'll let 'em take it
If they tried to come up the way I came up, they would never make it
I've earned respect amongst the best for sounding live
In a place where if you tried, you wouldn't make it out alive
And honestly I would shave my nuts with a switchblade
Before I click the link to your downloadable mixtape

Chorus:

The rap game, where everybody wants a favor
But nobody wants to pay you for the labor
That's the rap game, where everybody's got their hands out
But very few stand out
The rap game, you got fakes, snakes, and cold hand shakes
That's the mothafuckin' rap game
(Yo) That's the rap game

[Verse 2:]

Yo, see I came up drinkin' 40's, kickin' freestyles and brawlin'
And these kids are all in tight jeans now
I turn on the radio and hear some dumb shit
Like wow, this is worse than Reverend Run's kid
I used to listen to Pun spit, and I've seen Big L perform
But nowadays, I'm like what the hell went wrong
Emcees get their acapellas on, but what's the purpose
Now the crowd can really hear how fuckin' wack your verse is
Surprised you're not rockin' purses how you rhyme now
And in my house, we don't respect men that wax their eyebrows
Time-out, I know what ruined our plans
The fact that there's more rappers now, than there are fans
But they don't pack in cars and vans and rock shitty crowds
They record on their PC's and shout their cities out
I took the gritty route, I press my own shit
And made ten dollars off everyone of y'all that own this

[Chorus]

[Verse 3:]

Yo, I don't care who you put on your album to garnish it
That's why I put mine out, without a fuckin' feature on this shit
Y'all producers are wack, I'll do my own joints
And distribute myself, labels getting no points
And I don't know who I'm supposed to be more mad at
The rappers that make the music, or the kids that grab that
Or the rappers I can laugh at, but this is no joke
I don't want you kids as fans even if I go broke
This is so dope, you can overdose
Shout to Rubee, Dums, ReapSow, and Holy Smokes
Diabolic, Grim, BanCalm <--(?), and Jak Progresso
Day Laborers, Spaceboy Melody, No Techno
Sidius, Freestyle, Pen, and Skamatics for sure
Let's get this money on, take these faggots to war
Peace to everyone in the game that gave me love
And to everyone else, this year it's raining blood

The rap game
That's the rap game
The rap game
The mothafuckin' rap game
That's the rap game