Lyrics

[Verse 1: UNO Mas] It's style out of control, out of the hands that shape the mold It's now dwelling in that place where the stories all get old And the realness never told, too much money's in the fold Emcees selling out their soul for a record to get sold Ain't it funny how these things always seem to go around It's like a virus or a plague that keeps messing up the sound Fools be talking major trash but in your face they want to pound Scared to go around without a bodyguard surround So you sold it all for nothing while we ask you, "Where's the substance?" Too much empty talk, fake emcees come in abundance Don't you hate all that redundance, it's quite laughable today It's quite approble to say, "Hope it dies and goes away" You can look up to the clouds, you can look into the sky You can ask the reason why, but it's Him we can't deny Let the music take control and may it see a brighter day While we raise it to the stars, letting God show us the way [Chorus] You're dreaming, you're really not that type You can't rock a crowd, you can't rock the mic You're dreaming, come back to earth You think you got a lot, but what's it really worth You're dreaming, stuck on cloud nine You need to face reality, you really can't rhyme You're dreaming, you think you're so fresh But haven't done a show, haven't sold yet [Verse 2: Flynn] You say you're going to come up and that it's your time to shine But I hear nothing from you, a waste of time A waste of breath at the pace of a next lifetime It's safe to have said you've straddled a fine line A complete failure, claiming genius to a fool But your efforts are nothing more than levels of grade school Still live with your mom and she makes you lunch and dinner Pats you on the back and says you're gonna be a winner But you've nothing to claim, merit in this rap game I mention your name and they all say that you're lame Wacker than wack, you make and optimist complain It's sadder than sad, I would have blown out my brains I guess you're cool with it, you just chill with a Coke Hating on Rap City, saying that you're way more dope Once you get a record deal and it falls into your lap But dude get real, it don't go down like that [Chorus] You're dreaming, you're really not that type You can't rock a crowd, you can't rock the mic You're dreaming, come back to earth You think you got a lot, but what's it really worth You're dreaming, stuck on cloud nine You need to face reality, you really can't rhyme You're dreaming, you think you're so fresh But haven't done a show, haven't sold yet [Verse 3: CookBook] Dream on, it's time to wake up from the Matrix Your debates are faithless, time to get back to the basics Face the fact that you're tasteless, tattered and tired Come on, you're not admired, your late pass has expired And I'm the hall monitor, send you to the office My off the top of the head is better than your whole synopsis To sum it up, even though you're coming up Whether you're bad or running rough, the aftermath will run it up To let you know that Biggie Smalls called, he wants his style back I liked your album better when it was called "Ready to Die" mac Come on player, quit listening to Big Pimpin' Quit listening to your homeboys when they tell you, man, it's hitting Manifest some writtens that go beyond average description Go beyond cash, cars, and women, to a road that's not so driven And given the fact that I've now painted the scenario You and your tribe should hit that Quest for a better flow [Chorus] You're dreaming, you're really not that type You can't rock a crowd, you can't rock the mic You're dreaming, come back to earth You think you got a lot, but what's it really worth You're dreaming, stuck on cloud nine You need to face reality, you really can't rhyme You're dreaming, you think you're so fresh But haven't done a show, haven't sold yet [Outro] (And all that gibberish you were spittin' you need to kill it) (Believe me son) (My advice, quit talking, it's over) ('Cause your style is like dying in my sleep, I don't feel it)