Lyrics Weak Ideas - O.C., Page The Hand Grenade

Weak Ideas

Another
Rapper drops.
«He sounds dope.
He gets props, but he’s
Overrated.»
Ayyo, where does the Buck stop?
It stops here when Page the Hand Grenade starts to flow
I got the tools.
Rapping school?
I’m on the honor roll
Real emcees attack the wack, but real
Emcees sit back, relax, let Page blast the trash
It’s my turn to burn.
They deserve to learn
Take away their deals.
Who said that these herbs could earn?
Buck attacks, he starts from scratch and plays
The butcher, I kick backs, he did the track—that man got
Got mad clients while some rappers be lying.
That’s why
I burn rappers, but that’s similar to an appliance in the
Kitchen.
Buck with 1200's no suspicion, you know
This shit is real.
Don’t front, there’s no conflictions
I get heated when other rappers act superior
Now we can battle or we could cause «Mass Hysteria»
Some of you’ve been trying to write rhymes for years
Simple, ain’t it?
But quite clever
Is this the best that you can make?
But weak ideas irritating my ears
Ayyo
Page, you right.
Give me the mic and let me ignite
A mere spark.
We’re smelling blood like shark.
Let’s take it
To the park, back in the stage, engage in battle
Rappers telling tales, but, in jails, they tattle
Fiction, libbing off with the diction.
Now you done
Caused me and this nigga to rub you off with some friction
Ready to defend?
We aren’t your old lyrical hero
Never a ratio when upon your radio
I painted, he stained it.
Thoughts infinite, we gon' win it
Page’ll be on the scene in one huffy minute
No, kid, I think the rappers in front of you fainted
(«Simple, ain’t it? But quite clever»)
Some of you’ve been trying to write rhymes for years
Simple, ain’t it?
But quite clever
Is this the best that you can make?
But weak ideas irritating my ears
Now, every time I kick a rhyme, I sound dope
I don’t brag or boast.
Most emcees can’t flow
It’s their fault that they can’t talk to music
I got the voice plus the sound and acoustics
«Who's this?»
Well, it’s Page.
I got two clips
Of rhyme ammunition.
Sit down—you can’t do shit
Who’s the one that assumes he could rhyme?
We could
Pull out loot or we could battle for studio time
You renege ‘cause you know that your rhyme sucks
Didn’t O.C.
tell y’all niggas that y’all «Time's Up»?
Y’all didn’t listen.
It’s time to start flipping
End your composition or end up in the kitchen
You’ll feel heat.
Ain’t it obvious?
I’m still deep
I’m always up, writing rhymes, I can’t get real sleep
Open your ears.
I kick the flavor for my peers
(«But weak ideas irritating my ears»)
Some of you’ve been trying to write rhymes for years
Simple, ain’t it?
But quite clever
Is this the best that you can make?
But weak ideas irritating my ears