Deacon the Villain - Hypocrite lyrics

[Chorus - Tonedeff & Deacon the Villain] All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me Come face to face and it's a whole different story Shut up and stop talking, Step, Start walkin They smile in your face… stab you when you're not watching All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know Come face to face and it's a whole different story They tell ya one thing, and then go do another Its about time we blew your cover [Verse 1 - Tonedeff] Hey, what's a matter with the world today? There's lots of hypocrites lurking, You can be sure to say See, plenty of times, I've been verbally burned or turned away By n***as that haven't earned their say, so, in my defense, I've learned to play Cause I discerned decay in many crevices, heady rappers, biters Writers and editors…So I take preventative measures It's shame that this game b-b-became a bit of a pain I'm dealing with strain by gettin my name sh** on by n***as that b**h and complain Consider the fame of underground rappers Who stand to waste their fan bases if sounds can can catch up, like Sales are bad luck Some cats only support you when they believe they've bought you But abort you the minute you blow the f** up, or even start to No need argue, with these mean elitists This new breed of teens is conceited, thinking that they conceived the whole scene as you see it Like history prior to them was deleted Now, either you're a conformist or an extremist My grievances are not with warrant because I've seen this… sh**ty element shine through By cynical individuals carrying rifles Don't be original, don't even try to You'll always sound like somebody else, till somebody else sounds like you Be mindful of the powers that scheme I'm seeing these dudes that never paid dues with interviews and 2 page spreads in glossy magazines And I've had it with these fraudulent skeptics The type to say they wrecked sh**, when the whole audience was on their guest list [Verse 2 - Deacon The Villain] Don't you hate people without cars, that critique how you're driving? What about them backseat rhymers, doggin' your one-liners? Hip-Hop-ocrites, they ain't droppin sh**, so they smell yours And tell you how bad it stinks! Claiming you fell short Of their goal. It's like you're at a stage show They ain't throwing tomatoes, but full bottles of Prego Like not seeking their non-seasoned advice would lead to your detriment While they're sounding like P. Diddy with a speech impediment Knockin your better sh**! (Y'all couldn't have heard it right!) Usually, they are suburbanites that are living the urban life Acting like your goal should be to be underground for life (Aight, then pay our bills, b**h, and turn on our lights!) These motherf**as act like there's a set of rules to follow Well, check this…for you I got a set of j**els to swallow Cause half the cats you praise, you only like because he's cool with your other favorite rapper You only like him because he used to be Eminem's back-up Took a picture, had it posterized and found a wall to tack up But when Eminem blew up, you threw up Dissed him, and became the next underground sensation's new s*ut It's all sad. To you, songs with sung hooks, they're all bad But throw Anticon's whackest rapper on it, and you're all glad This madness and inconsistency dulls my shine These b**hes would try to discredit VISA if it rhymed (Now chew on that line) [Chorus] [Verse 3 – Tonedeff] What do you do if you're a dick, nobody likes you, and you never get light? You start your own hip-hop website! Now you're a big fish in a small pond, controlling all the facets Your opinions disappear in the instant your browser crashes You underground babies cry the most, like you're starting to teethe He's fifteen with an opinion – But me? I'm an artist with beef “Dude, Tonedeff is all flow, he only talks fast” Oh yeah? Well, here's a slow f** you for you're stalled a**” [Verse 3 – Deacon The Villain] Well, what do you do when your careers dying, nearly with its breath gone You start whining, complaining, claiming you're getting slept on In the lab mixing elements for your so-called ‘best song' Yelling, “I got the next bullet-single!” but Billboard is wearing Teflon Cooking up food for thought, but when your meal drops And listeners don't like your flavor, you pout that, “Y'all don't know real hip-hop!” Eat a dick, doc. Your fame clock must be pa**ed its tick-tock Now, punching soda cans is the only way you'll hit-pop