Ice-T didn’t beef – he dialogued
You think you’ve made it, you’re just a lucky man
Guess who controls your destiny, fans
But you diss ‘em cos you think you’re a star
That attitude is rude, you won’t get far
Cos they’ll turn on you quick, you’ll drop like a brick
Unemployment’s where you’ll sit
No friends cos you dissed ‘em too
No money, no crew, you’re through
You played yourself…
That’s right, you played yourself…
You played yourself…
Yo, yo, you played yourself…
(…)
And then you get an idea for a big move
An armed robbery…smooth
But everything went wrong, somebody got shot
You couldn’t get away, the cops roll, you’re popped
And now you’re locked, yo, lampin’ on Death Row
Society’s fault? No
Nobody put the crack into the pipe
Nobody made you smoke off your life
You thought that you could do dope and still stay cool? Fool.
You played yourself…
You played yourself…
Ain’t nobody else’s fault, you played yourself.
Chuck D once called rap the black CNN. Using the music and the culture to come to terms with problems, talking them out and drawing out plans, doesn’t seem to be part of the plan now. Even an underground legend like Bumpy Knuckles, who once proposed the formation of a hiphop government, prefers twittering over talking man to man. An open dialogue, an all-attended conference, is what’s needed the most. A first step is making more songs like this, bringing back honesty and substance (and getting better at conversating).
Now I’m known and respect as creator of the crime rhyme;
but my lyrics are deeper
Because I’m the one that makes you think before make a move
I wrote “Pusher”, “High Rollers”, and “Colors” just to prove
that I could kick game, and drop knowledge at the same time
But one L.A. station wouldn’t play my records one time
I’m tryin to save my community
but these bourgeoise blacks keep on doggin me
They don’t care about violence, drugs and gangs
KJLH, you ain’t about nuttin
You just a bunch of punk bourgeoise black suckers
and this one’s for me
(…)
That’s what the matter with black people anyway
We ain’t down with nothin, I don’t care what you say
yell or lie, don’t even bother
How low will a brother go for a dollar?
(…)
I gotta speak my mind, it’s time to unload
on this so-called government we’ve got
If I lied like them, I think I’d get shot
They sell drugs to kids and say it’s us
And when the cops are crooks, who can you trust?
You only see young brothers in a drug bust
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust
My homey got a year for an ounce of weed
while Bush sells weapons to the enemy
You gotta be stone blind not to see
“Our government is honest!” Nigga, please
Cocaine can’t be made in the United States
Kickin facts like this our government hates
The young kids on the streets ain’t the enemy
They’re just ghetto youth after money
They sell drugs, but who sells drugs to them?
Try the C.I.A. my friend
or the F.B.I. or even Bush
Somebody’s gettin rich, damn sure ain’t us
We’re just killin ourselves while others laugh
Look at the street, it’s a cocaine bloodbath
We gotta realize dope is pure death
Mess with drugs, you’re breathin your last breath
Sellin drugs is straight up genocide
They’re gonna laugh, while we all die
Page 2 of 2 | Previous page