I was never a huge fan of Tupac or Biggie
Consider me an outcast, I won't support the top 50 cent carbon copies
Don't got sh** for me, where as my b-boys trying to take back the cities
it goes dip-dip diving, never socializing
to put it in to words I'm introverted in the silence
The monica, the man in the mirror, its whats behind this make-up that doesnt say much he wears the costume like a ball in chain
When the crowds call his name he's a janitor at night that sweeps the halls of fame
And it's all the same, it's nothing new to him, this suit and grin doesn't suit him and his shoes don't fit
Been through walking
Music on foot, and he chooses not to a**ume to like "f** you"
Walking down beat street without break-dancing just rapping about things you take for granted
On the corner, I'm burning gap-sweaters and commons name
Because everything everything you said meant nothing when he put on them chains
A hundred miles I'm running on this track like I'm running for my life in pursuit of my true love
[Hook]
Full-time work part-time entertainer
My car is my dressing room, I'll show you what I'm made of.
x2
'Cause I don't do this on the side, I do it in my spare-time so spare me the canned laughter after every punchline
Hustling find it troubles the mind stumbling, fumbling, mumbling on rhymes
I hate it when crowds get easily impressed by double-time
You can't please them all, you feed it to them more maybe they'll get some respect while my city is in the storm
But I won't believe the hype, f** the views and magazine cos most critics and failed artists take it out on acts like me
Take this show on the road with no circus
The only thing my words served was a purpose
The double edged sword I walking on, like the shoestring-budget that I work with and wear these clothes like closed curtains
A college grad with a film degree and no insurance
My eyes darker than Cliver Barker and Tim Burtons
I stare into the audience and tell it like it is
and k** them softly with a millions cuts and slices I give
Got a lot of nerve saying hip-hops dead
Made a living off your fans who think you understand them, it's pathetic
Like suburban MCs who pack up and headed to the ghetto just to get some street credit
f** that stop the burning
They're in paradise living off your hard earnings
Cos I never sold d**, I never sold out
Just want my music heard, word up and no doubt
('Cause you got nothing for me 'cause you're still the same story)x4
[Hook]
Full-time work part-time entertainer
My car is my dressing room, I'll show you what I'm made of.
x2