Lyrics Del's Nightmare - Del The Funky Homosapien

Del's Nightmare

Let me tell you a little story about the slave master
Use a whip on your ass so you behave faster
You got chains on your neck, and the Man’s respect
You’ll work all damn day, but you will never see a check
In the field.
Cotton you yield.
Your skin peels off your back
From the crack of the whip.
It won’t heal
Ya wish you had a shield cause he wields iron
So when you act up, he smokes ya and keeps firing
And it’s tiring
Forget about recreation
One wrong move and it’s death you’re facing
White motha fuckaz got the ball and chain
On your leg, and in the form of religion on your brain
They say, «You the devil.»
You say, «Who the devil!!!»
Some of us was house niggers.
Some of us was rebels
Some tried to get along the best they could
And didn’t nobody use the phrase, «It's all good!»
Would you?
They got you living like a shrew
They throw you pig lips and chicken gizzards.
Then you make a stew
They give us a white Jesus to appease us
We talk among ourselves and hope nobody sees us
They had our brothers beating us.
Called us createns plus monkeys
They just junkies mistreating us
The master said, «If you don’t whip 'em, you’re dead!»
It was fucking with his head, but he beat us instead
And we bled
Red blood flowing like a flood
Then he’d rape your mother.
Stick her face in the mud
They were ruthless!
If you tried to front, you’d be toothless
Some tried to run even though it seemed useless
Virginity was torn.
Soon babies was born that was half white
And now his skin is kind of light
You think you’re special, because they let you
Oversee the carnage?
But I bet you
Will get hung, even if you stick out your tounge
Cause they pull out the shank and stick it right through you’re lung
Now it’s 96 and white people say, «Forget it
It’s all in the past.»
And some even regret it
Cause they think we’ll set it
Now my missions to get federal
So I can raise a black family with a true devils
And you know how that goes
The slave master watching over you
Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do!
The slave master watching over you
But ain’t nothing gonna stop me and my crew!
This is for you kids trying to get signed
Just a little something you should keep in mind:
The labels are slave masters.
Artists are slaves
Don’t get too raunchy.
They want you to behave
You get signed.
You’re thinking, «This is great!»
But wait You never knew what was at stake
Creative control they withold
You sell your soul when you sign on the dotted line hoping to go gold
But you’ll never see that, not without promotion
The label’ll just throw your shit out, and got it floatin'
You think your shit is potent, but ain’t nobody buying it
If they ain’t never heard of it, ain’t nobody trying it
If they ain’t never heard of it 'your record' they murder it
You can complain.
But they are not concerned a bit
Cause when they signed you, they thought you’d make a hit
Cause of who you were affiliated with, and all that bullshit
Frustrations.
All these rules and regulations
Just so you can have your shit heard by the nation
And be patient
Cause by the time they find a lead release, your shit is ancient
You think they’re working your album?
You’re mistaken
And if you flop, you get dropped
Cause you ain’t the star.
You didn’t go pop
Just straight up hip-hop.
Time to get a mop
Cause without no promotion, of course sales drop
Peep the break down: If tapes cost ($)10
You’ll probaably only get to see a dollar in the end
That you cannot spend.
Cause your budget gets recouped
So you never get cash unless your record is «Shoop.»
You better hope you get shows, which will not happen
If you don’t have a record that’s the main attraction
Even if you sell a million, you’ll get burned
Cause they keep half your cash just in case of returns
For a while, you wonder why rappers don’t smile
Cause to them, you’re not an artist.
You’re just another file
Another nigga used to make another buck
They don’t give a fuck.
And if your shit don’t blow up, tough
But the star gets both promotion and devotion
From the whole fucking staff.
At you, they laugh
The star probably don’t know that he the house nigga
Thinking he bigger cause he’s the, pick of the litter
These lebels think backwards.
They push the acts that need it the least
So they can get all the money they can when it’s released
They take you to a restarant for a feast
And then expect you to pck up the check?
That’s why I give props to niggas who is independent:
Cause they make they own money, plus decide how to spend it
Splendid.And lets end it
And don’t get offended
The slave master watching over you
Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do
The slave master watching over you
But ain’t nothing gonna stop me and my crew
Hieroglyphics!