Break Bread - Grown Ass Men lyrics

[Scratch Hook] "Let me tell ya something" - KRS ONE 'Rappers R N Danja' "I just want to do my jams with fam and slam into some hypeness" - The Artifacts 'C'mon Wit Da Git Down' "Let me tell ya something" "But biters and backstabbing rappers don't even like us" - The Artifacts 'C'mon Wit Da Git Down' [Hook: John Smith] I ain't a newjack to this, nah I'm through practicing If the crews rapping kittle then move back a bit Grown a** men in a game full of bad boys Keep my name out your mouth And my face out the tabloids [Verse One: Pip Skid] These times is as tough as a poor mans hands In the hourgla** you know you ran under sands Abandon my plans, get a crib before I'm thirty That sh** ain't happening when my lyrics stay dirty And my face stays... Unmarketable Even that I wanna rap people think it's remarkable Don't want my photo beside a bottle of Coke Just a pile of money so big it'll make a whale choke No joke I know I'll never be rich Without an accident or having the lotto hit Oh sh** Yeah, I think these numbers are mine Use my mom's birthday to pick the 6-49 But I'm Not part of the media blitz Just hand over the novelty check and then I split Putting On The Ritz, Break Bread familia Do our thing regardless of where they point the camera I'm out [Verse Two: mcenroe] The Canadian rap scene's Tony Soprano Has been creating a vaccine for flowing like guano So if you ask me, the key to success here Is not messing with bad beats and keeping your head clear Can't conduct a think tank in a sh** can Maybe send your pink slip on to back to being just fans We can't link, there's a fundamental rift As your hits inch forward like continental drift We're not on the same page, a big stage aim Like Big Game James, my name's fall of fameing And I'm out to get paid for production No doubt what I put out is grade A construction Got drums as a function The organ is tuning Those of us bumping, we be forming a union Known to a few and, the circle is growing There's no time for fuming on the foolish not knowing [Verse Three: John Smith] Smith and Pip Gruf and Yy Mcenroe and Honeycutt those the f**ing guys Stuffed inside a minivan Cat napping and dogs up lamping in the cabin Either place we make it a habit It beez that way, man made, it ain't magic And I can't relate to fanatics Complaining, they think not being famous is tragic Do like Pringles and stack chips Minus the handlebar and flying to Kandahar Mingling plastic tanks with our troops A full time crash event Give me loot, cash, respect, demanding the vet Plans in effect are we gambling? (Yes!) Well that's a risk I'm willing to take Like ice grilling jake Our sh**'s k**ing these fakes [Hook] [Scratch Hook]