Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dumb Out, artist - Joe Budden. Album song Mood Muzik Vol. 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 16.09.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Amalgam, Stage One
Song language: English
Dumb Out |
It’s stuck between platinum and flop, underground and mainstream |
Concious, backpack, scratch that, same thing OH |
I’m somewhere between the real and the fakeness |
The red pill, blue pill, real and the Matrix |
And I can’t take this; |
if the game needs a new look |
I’m between a tummy tuck and a face lift |
And everything I say in these pages |
Is straight from the heart, nah magazines, y’all can’t rate this |
But I’ll be debatin it, it’s a bit outragous |
Like it’s an air virus and this shit’s contagious NIGGA |
I’m downloadin like niggaz actually play this |
Maybe I’m buggin out, maybe I’m on a spaceship OHHH |
See I was on my stay out chill shit |
The way Mouse kills shit, I’m here just to lay out real shit |
Besides, other dudes styles remind me of spinnin rims WHY? |
That shit got played out real quick KILL 'EM |
See some wrote him off, some said he was done |
Made a joke of, hope he enjoyed the run |
I don’t enjoy bein shunned, so I’m back as Neo |
Fans enjoyed The One, annoint me as begun |
I had the whole hood thinkin he would never eat |
Rappers tried to diss, thinkin we would never meet NAH |
I heard it if you said it |
You wrote it on online then I read it, now I match it nigga bet it |
Cause I remember clearly |
Once «Pump It Up"stop soarin, there’s a few motherfuckers stopped callin |
See I remember shit spread like cancer |
I would call folks said, folk ain’t answer |
A few chicks runnin started pullin they pants up |
A few stopped actin like my private dancer OOOH |
But a lightbulb hit once they started to neglect me |
See there I was, thinkin I was all that sexy but I |
Nah fuck that |
Cause I’m still sexy, young and fly |
Knahmean, ya heard? |
Look here can’t be finished, what nigga I beg ya pard' |
I just let niggaz get a head start YEAH |
I walk to the finish, y’all spread out chase |
Nah sprint out pace, and I’ll still win the race YEP |
See I’m joggin |
Other niggaz legs starts wobblin, when opportunity is start knockin |
You got the crown, pass off like Stockton |
It’s time to work, I’m offically clocked in |
He is a problem, weavin and bobbin' |
Through the speculation that his label tried to drop him NAH |
I can’t leave, even though it’s big options |
Kev only signed me, to keep this shit rockin' |
Don’t ask me how I’m doin, I been better |
Stuck in cold Feburary, with a thin sweater |
I’m far from a «YES"man, I’m a trend setter |
It’s no games, just a Def Jam Vendetta |
Don’t put niggaz in the same sink as me |
I mean metaphors, storylines, deep shit, club shit, girl shit, world shit |
They don’t use to ink like me |
Niggaz don’t even think like me NAH |
Who sees what I’m watchin, he ain’t poppin' |
Don’t deserve to drink water from the tub that I washed in |
WAIT, start again, it’s a privilege to breath the same air that I farted in |
They want no parts with him |
How dare niggaz categorize me |
If my name’s on a mixtape, then capitalize me |
I been stopped goin' to Mixtape Awards |
Don’t need them to tell me, the mixtapes is yours NAH |
I had other ideas, while hittin loot |
I’m thinkin red carpet, I went and copped a suit WHOOH |
See I’m thinking Grammy’s |
Sunglasses on, with my On Top family and a bad bitch handy OOHH |
He stayed at the «W», it felt like heaven |
I’m at an actress’s house, that felt like neckin' |
R&B on, looked and felt like Meagan |
Gave me headache too, I felt like an Excedrin |
Talk very fly |
Least until I bought every pie, me me being war ready to my eyes |
And these dudes might as well be Jamie Foxx |
Trying to sound like somebody that already died |
The kid keep a snub wit 'em, good pair of gloves wit 'em |
Your first week ain’t right, they can’t fuck wit 'em |
Now if you don’t sell 5 mill, they had enough of 'em |
Let me find out Hip Hop’s turnin' Republican |
I’ll sum it up to what he is about |
Still new to most, they still feelin him out |
Things were type blam, Joey seasoned him out |
I’m the nicest dude out since «Reasonable Doubt,"say it ain’t so |
Rest in Peace Luther, there’s some other niggaz gay on the low OH |
So live, who can see 'em, no guy |
I’m the Mets, was suppose to be ill in '05 WHOA |
As ill as the flow gets, need a piller don’t snitch |
So if you can’t tell, I’m preparing for '06 |
About to OD, anybody that know me |
Can tell you I’m bout to make shit feel like it’s '03 |
More like '99 |
No names should be mentioned but mine, unless you talkin' Big Pun in his prime |
Maybe '96 Jay, before Dame was throwin' money around |
Or 2pac without Humpty around |
Or 50 before Em, Nas talkin' like a gun in his song |
Cam’ron during «Children Of The Corn» |
Beans before the cops came through and try to grill 'em |
I’m talkin '95, Big L before they killed 'em |
Em before 8 Mile, Shyne before the deal shit |
Canibus, no album out before the L shit |
Talkin' bout Kiss, DMX when he was fuckin' wit coke |
Or «Cuban Linx,"Raekwon and Ghost |
I do it all, who blendin' so well in the game |
Talkin' Fab, back when he was still spellin' his name MANG |
On my Diddy shit, Memphis, Grizzlie shit |
Like back in the day when Clue swiped all of Biggie’s shit NIGGA |
Rappers don’t need trouble with I |
Unless it’s Rass Kass before the D.W.I |
Or Talib with Mos, Common before «Be» |
If they any less common, don’t put 'em before me |
See, I’m not a rapper, I’m a prophet |
Chill Joe stop it, skill will speak for you, don’t pop shit |
Fuck jail, I’m on my payroll cop shit |
I call that bootleg cable, it’s no box shit |
All black, lookin' grimey in the crowd |
Heat on him, no sir, don’t try me when I’m out |
I toast somethin' tiny that’ll blauh |
Ain’t gotta see Paul Wall, if you want somethin' shiney in your mouth |
I probably fool cats, cause I don’t ride out in some big car |
In the streets, like I ain’t some big star |
And these young mother fuckers, is about to fuck up |
Like leavin' they whole career in some bitch car |
No name, but it’s no sublime |
Nigga you know who you are, I’ll end it before it goes too far |
Your buzz still fucked, you a liar money |
Joe’s still spendin «Pump It Up», «Fire"money |
Glock for hire money, don’t try to mug me |
Call ass cap, maybe be at mines for money |
Please, what’s wrong wit 'em, somethin' ain’t the norm' wit 'em |
Ain’t too many dudes out there, out performin 'em NAH |
Some require these skills, I was born wit 'em |
Street’s askin' what’s takin' so long wit 'em |
Jump Off, I’m the best to happen |
He’s the answer, the who’s got the next in rappin' |
I suggest you ask 'em |
If Hip Hop is all smoke and mirrors, then I’m the Windex and a napkin |
New dudes is whack, some vet’s is has-been's |
Some were Top 20, till I crept right passed 'em |
It’s a wrap, Joey sealin' it nigga |
Cold out, Long Johns still dealin' it nigga |
Still peelin' it nigga |
If I only get 'em two times, just know it was the dilinger nigga |
It’s that 'gnac music, don’t know how to act music |
Gettin' my Kanye on, puttin' out «Crack Music» |
Car jack music, got what they lack music |
Send my little man, get rid of the pack music |
That I’m back music, that click clack music |
That A-Team, Muggs, that Fab and Stack music |
Now who said they fuckin' with me |
They just said that fuckin' with me, they didn’t mean it (NAH) |