Lyrics Wannabes - People Under The Stairs

Wannabes

A wise man will only be useful as a man
He will not submit to be clay or stop a hole to keep the wind away
A hundred percent me, capital B-Boy, the child is the father of the man
Taking pictures with my family, the b-boy stance in '84
Grew up cross-threading hip-hop and Peruvian folklore
Therefore, my indifference to pop stems from the fact
The plan to make a difference in hip-hop as an art, not as income
No I didn’t come into this shit in '93 like a wannab
Repressed buyr, high addresses to the liar
That’s claiming he did this and that, cat used to diss rap back in '86
Now he wanna mix, make beats, et cetera
It’s better to watch and try and prove, it down and read thoughts
Can tell what wannabes are, just everything they’re not
Noun, pronoun, now verb, the clown’s hard to prove
Reserved, no action got served, my faction that’s a fraction
Of my nation, in fact, when I face them, the ice chips
I shadow-battle to free give, it’s natural to me
Never respect blatant wannabes that follow a model
Like kid could mention us to make MC like Michael McDonald
Now grab the bottle, drink away the fact that you’ll always be wack
I got no time for fakin' jacks, 'cause mother got fake jacks are just the…
Are you… you wannabe?
(x2)
Check it out, y’all… yo…
My shit’s 1−5-8−0 proof, the realness bringing the truth to light
Ready to fight for my peeps, man, fuck your color lines
Fool, let’s take it to the street, radio stations giving a fuck
About you, me, or anybody else that ain’t posted on TV
Monday nights, you be in the house getting dumb
While my bitches on the street, making civilians run
Panicked, couldn’t stand the way we flipped the script
I know you like the way I got my johnson on your lip
You nickel-dick biter, exciter of the next
Don’t wanna come original, just known as a wack individual
Stay in your cipher, dude, I’ll stay inside mine
It ain’t enough time for getting 'bout it in rhymes
If you doubted it, I’m 'bout it on the dee-lo, chump
I only let my kids know, never put it in the flow
That’s where y’all fucked up, putting that shit on the waves
Representing Unity, get the shit out my way
Yo, who in the motherfuck handed you the mic
You came to the club with intentions of rocking it all night
But we scheduled other plans, I’m sorry my man
Just can’t take it when niggas like yourself get on the mic and fake it
Been having too long like the (?) first song
When they asked you to rap, you shoulda told 'em you’re wrong
Everybody wants to be somebody else
A wannabe who’s running from the reality of theirself
The national health, I guess, this is symptomatic
Effect of industry, capitalism, and democratic illusions
Take a state like Cali, white kids listen to Death Row
And do drive-bys in Simi Valley
Bump the niggas shit, I guess, it used to be on trial
Went from commentary to a way to glorify the industry
Be saying «nigga» cool, and making believe
That you love the poverty and don’t ever want to leave
You wannabe honestly, honestly, the country wants it this way
You wannabe intelligent, now that would cause some dismay
For he wannabe (?), a player’s called a player
She wannabe loved, the famous wannabe the mayor
The mayor’s son bought a gun, he wannabe a gangsta
Shanked him in the alley in the dumpster by the bank
'Cause a wannabe’s an anomaly for nothing (damn!)
I don’t wannabe a b-boy because I am
'98, y’all, People Under The Stairs
Are you… you wannabe?
(x2)
Let’s peep out these hoes, man…
The real MCs…
Now, look at you, fake lady… wannabe
But never gonna be 'cause you ain’t got the quality
It ain’t like I’m too good for you, more like you’re too legit to quit
Got a job slanging ass-to-mouth and the tits
Not even for a fee, dumb bitch, you buggin'
Every other minute, it’s another nigga you hugging
I’m buggin'?
You need to check your resumé and get it right
From the left, all you see is mean mugs all night
'Cause we ain’t going for it, I see your gameplan, bitch
You wanna be like her, instead your one big glitch
I remember high school, you turned your homework in on time
Now you fucking every dude to say their bus pass rhymes
But I dropped mad dimes and exposed the fake
At five o' clock, it’s Ricki Lake then you off to the breaks
To catch another, smoke a little herb, drink a little liquor
You and your girls competing who can get their next quicker
Wannabes, wannabes, they all in types
Backpacks, baggy pants, «hey, man, you got a pipe?»
Wannabes, wannabes, they all over the place
You can spot 'em anywhere just by the look on their face
Wannabes, wannabes, honestly, they’re confused
Thousand-dollar jumpsuits, snakeskin shoes
Wannabes, wannabes, got no memories
You weren’t down back then, you’re not down with me
… in '98… in '93… in '83… or in '77
You’s a wanna-wannabe, a wannabe… you won’t slam… you wannabe… you wannabe… you
try and make jams…
You won’t slam…
Wannabes… wannabes on their knees, lickin' crazy butt…