| This is dedicated to the emcee that struggles with the funds and
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| Most of his shows, you can count the crowd on one hand
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| He’s straight up ill with every tune that he’s played, he wrote
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| But barely even gets played on Community radio
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| And he ain’t got a label, he rolls dolo
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| Pressing up his own shit and doing his own promo
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| He holds no dough, like an old hobo, they think he’s so loco
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| But oh no, no, he’s like a lone Frodo
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| That won’t give up, through any turn of the weather
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| Even though the road is slow, he’s still determined as ever
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| Until he’s churning out cheddar, because his flow is butter
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| He gotta get exposed like he needs to blow his cover
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| They start to feel his vibe 'cause his rhyming is hot
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| So the deal arrives and he just signs on the dot
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| It started so simply, all about the words that you say
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| But now there’s jerks that are paid off his works that are played
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| And he ain’t getting shit, just a few perks of the trade
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| He sees a real industry and what lurks in the shade
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| 'Cause everything he worked for, the struggle to build, the love and the skill
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| Ain’t worth shit next to a couple of mill
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| So he sits back, feels lame, jaded and old
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| The game is taking its toll, the fame’s raping his soul
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| Of the industry, 'cause they forgot that this is art
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| The aim was breaking the mould, not trying to fit the part
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| But if he, spits it smart, he can hit the heart
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| He only got one dart and he ain’t gonna miss the mark
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| Creative control, only a few who are found
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| Completely credible music but with that lucrative sound
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| It goes, lights, camera, action, you’re on son
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| You wanna rhyme but are you in it for the long run?
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| 'Cause you dream about platinum on this mic
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| Best, wake the fuck up, it don’t happen overnight
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| It goes, lights, camera, action, you’re on son
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| You wanna rhyme but are you in it for the long run?
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| 'Cause you dream about platinum on this mic
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| Best, wake the fuck up, it don’t happen overnight
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| This is dedicated to the MC who lives in the spotlight
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| With teeth shown from hunger like dogs in a cockfight
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| They’re frightened by his freedom so they call the police
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| But he’s the one who wakes you up, when you’re falling asleep
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| That kid with an idea, who catches the bus
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| Who writes life through his eyes, that’s attached to a brush
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| And he paints the world, exactly how he sees it
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| And if rhyming is a secret I don’t know, how he keeps it
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| But believe me it’s some deep shit and these kids all relate
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| You can’t see it but you feel it like a kick in the face
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| And when he grows up, shit, so will his rhymes
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| Time after time again he’ll keep, blowing your mind
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| His flow is divine, just a young buck with a curse
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| He sets fire to a cypher with a couple of words
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| Man he’s out for the cause, man he’s out there on tours
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| Trying to visit your town there’s no, bringing him down
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| So, get ready for the ride of your life
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| Trying to maintain but have a slice of the pie
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| It’s a damn shame, that their life has a price
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| But they can’t touch me or tell me what to rhyme on this mic
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| So I rhyme what I like, trying to bring that love back
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| Wild, and young and hard like a rugrat
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| Still walking in the club packed, yelling «where the bud at?»
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| Living like the underdog who promised that he’d come back
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| It goes, lights, camera, action, you’re on son
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| You wanna rhyme but are you in it for the long run?
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| 'Cause you dream about platinum on this mic
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| Best, wake the fuck up, it don’t happen overnight
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| It goes, lights, camera, action, you’re on son
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| You wanna rhyme but are you in it for the long run?
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| 'Cause you dream about platinum on this mic
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| Best, wake the fuck up, it don’t happen overnight |