| Oh, what a night, yo, that I just been through
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| I barely made it home from this hip-hop venue
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| These 2 guys, no 3 guys, no four, no, this posse
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| Try to fake a move and bum-rush me like a Nazi
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| Underground club where the kids are like rolling
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| I almost got an avalanche dropped on my show and
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| Cause I writes the fat raps and kids memorize 'em
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| I tries um this new style and boy did I surprise 'em
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| They said yo, that’s too hype, yo, who’s he think he is
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| He suppose to be commercial like that song about the Biz
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| The kid said «Masta Ace, yo, what’s the deal with the switching?»
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| He’s bitching, didn’t like the rap I was pitching
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| You see, he was a rapper with a single about to drop
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| His record label told him that he had to make it pop
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| Take it from me Jack, you’re sadly mistaken
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| A lot of record labels be trying to get the bacon
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| By making a brother into something he is not and
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| You’re better of in 'bama on a farm picking cotton
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| They mold ya and shape ya, they bend and they twist ya
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| They get paid like quick fast and that’s when they dis ya
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| So homeboy, you’re better off coming from the heart
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| And letting the kids put your record on the chart
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| You must use your head and forget what they said
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| Cause in about a year you’ll be like wake me when I’m dead
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| Wake up! |
| The Masta, the Ace and the Brand New, the Heavies
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| If this was an opera, I’d probably say Figaro
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| Black kid from Brooklyn but don’t call me nigga tho'
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| I rocks the jams for the young population
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| I wonder, I wonder, can I change the nation
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| It’s futile, so I try, yes, hoping, yea, maybe
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| But I can’t sit home and write Ice, Ice Baby
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| Cause if it comes down to, I must have a pop hit
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| I’ll go get a dayjob and rapping, I’ll stop it
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| I’m never going out, so, yo, firm I am standing
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| Cause my jams are fat like a cop named Cannon
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| My rap is for the mind, it’s nutritious
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| My word is final, the vinyl is delicious
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| So face it as if it was a hot fudge sundae
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| Or I’ll come get mine, I guess maybe one day
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| I gotta work hard and must use my head
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| To never hit the point, I’m saying wake me when I’m dead
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| Wake me when I’m dead, hey yo, wake me when I’m dead
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| This life is like a nightmare, I’m gonna lose my head
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| So I make the jam that’ll make me feel better
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| I hear a lot of groups that come cheesier than cheddar
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| But this jam is well bulit like '57 Chevies
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| The Masta, the Ace and the Brand New, the Heavies
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| So weigh this on your underground scale and
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| We be prevailing while others be failing
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| I’m hailing from Brooklyn and I strive for the ends
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| But I don’t need a Beemer and I don’t need a Benz
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| Still I get respect for the style I be choosing
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| Rapping to the soul kind of jazz type of fusion
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| I’m cruising, not for a bruising but I’ll break up
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| Anything that’s broiling like an LA Laker
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| So I rocks the West Coast as well as the city, yo
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| I got crazy flavor like a PE video
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| Plus I got alot of, um, skill and that’s word doc
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| With battle, who me G, you’re crazier than Murdoch
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| Instead of confronting, you oughta be checking
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| The time cause it’s wasting, second after second
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| You’re so busy ripping and daring kids to shoot ya
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| According to the Jetsons, there’s no blacks in the future
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| You better wake up before you’re in over your head
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| Tomorrow, you’ll be screaming wake me when I’m dead |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Wake Me When I'm Dead , by - Masta Ace Incorporated. Song from the album Grand Masta, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп