Kevin Crouse - Carry On Tradition lyrics

[Intro] Yeah, n***as want to talk about this rap sh** n***as want to talk about this money About these cars, these homes, these labels Clothes, sneakers, big money sh** Now everybody trying to get rich Now get rich n***as, f** it [Verse 1] Some rap pioneers be them crackheads When they speak, you see missin' teeth Silver chain with a silver piece n***as your grandfather's age, they pants still hangin' down they legs, talkin' about they ain't paid And they hate you, ‘cause they say you ain't pay dues And Slyvia Robinson was stealin' and robbin' them I feel it's a problem we gotta resolve Hip-Hop been dead, we the reason it died Wasn't Sylvia's fault or because MC's sk**s are lost It's because we can't see ourselves as the boss Deep-rooted through slavery, self-hatred The Jewish stick together, friends in high places We on some low level sh**, we don't want n***as to ever win See, everybody got a label Everybody's a rapper, but few flow fatal It's f**ed up, it all started from two turntables [Hook] When they crown you and you rise up to your position Carry on tradition When they knight you, then you go to fight Go to war, don't petition, carry on tradition Carry on tradition, carry on, ca-carry on, carry on tradition Carry On Tradition When you rep what we rep, then carry on tradition [Verse 2] Some of these new rappers got their caps flipped backwards With their fingers intertwined in some gang-sign madness I got an exam, let's see if y'all pa** it Let's see who can quote a Daddy Kane line the fastest Some of you new rappers, I don't understand your code You have your man shoot you, like in that Sopranos episode Do anythin' to get in the game, mixtapes You spit hate against bosses; hungry f**s are moraless You should be tossed in a pit full of unfortunate vocalists n***as, I could've wrote your sh** I had off-time, was bored with this I could've made my double-LP Just by samplin' different parts of Nautilus Still came five on the charts with zero audience The lane was open and y'all was droppin' that garbage sh** Y'all got awards for your bricks – it got good to ya You started tellin' them bigger dogs to call it quits?! WHAT? [Hook] [Verse 3] Now n***as got the studio poppin', it's mad clearer Engineers got his earplugs and still hear us The live-in-the-park sound versus the studio state of art sound. We on the charts now From British Walkers and Argyles Look at us rap stars now, with our black cars now Fortune 500 listed, brunches, sip Cipriani's Sippin', blunted, with rich white guys around me Thick white girls around me, Chinese lined up Because I'm what? Every dime lust We used to be a ghetto secret; can't make my mind up If I want that or the whole world to peep it Now carry on tradition f** a bum wack rapper makin' his career out of dissin' Peace to the strugglin' artists and dead one's gone, we miss 'em.I promise I carry on tradition [Hook]