Lyrics

Termanology Tight pants are for girls What up, Prem? Showoff... 1982 Yeah Is it me or is the world buggin' out? These rap dudes are so gay, they're comin' out And everything that they say is dumbin' out They all smokin' crack with Amy Winehouse We need to save hip-hop cause time's runnin' out And all the good emcees is never comin' out So strap on ya Timberland boots and thug it out And all you bati boys shut your blood clot mouth All these new rappers suck and I'll say it I'll diss em at they shows and let Vlad play it Furthermore they all dress kinda gayish Call 'em T-Pain, I'm more like Miles Davis And I like T-Pain, that ain't what I'm sayin' I'm just sayin' I miss when rappers weren't playin' Rakim never joked, but even he'd laugh If he'd seen how tight them pants is on your ass You have no business touchin' the mic And with pants that tight you should just wear tights Since when is it cool to dress like a dude That fucks another dude Y'all To Wong Foo I pray for a monsoon To come this way And wash away every rapper just like you First there was the dumbed down lyrics and chants Now it's autotune and thugs with tight pants This ain't the '70s and rap ain't disco That ain't rap shit, yo that's more like Sisqo We need more Bishop Lamonts and Wales We need more Saigons and more Freeways And I could go on with emcees all day But you'll never hear about 'em cause the radio's gay Except for Sirius And I can seriously say Since Pac and Big died, shit just ain't the same If I was you, I wouldn't release them records Your pants so tight you got a yeast infection Rappers all singin', but they ain't singers Cheatin' on the game, hip-hop swingers I could kick one rhyme and glow like sunshine The shit get me hype like a Lloyd Banks punchline I'm ghetto like the lunch line on park street In Lawtown y'all candy rappers too sweet You are not deep You made your bed, now sleep And I hope you burn in hell, wrapped up in the sheets On the east I get mad love in the streets I'm a beast I leave any rapper deceased Like 50 did to Ja I'm crispy and I'm fly And the funny shit is, yo I still ain't signed Just imagine when I get my first million dollars I'mma diss every label nigga that ain't holla These dudes that they signin' now, they ain't the problem They probably would been better off in a condom I seen this rap dude you know walkin' around I thought he was a chick 'til he turned around Then I seen his face His look was outta place So pussy that he coulda got mushed by mace We need more cats that rap like Joell Cause these new cats won't act for Sean Bell All they wanna rap about is gay shit Whatever happened to BET, the basement You see the type of shit we bein' replaced with? Face it, every rapper you love now ain't shit