Lyrics Every Record Label Sucks Dick - R.A. The Rugged Man

Every Record Label Sucks Dick

Fuck the new clothes, sport shitty jeans, fuck the limousines
When the ho schemes you end up with no beans
There’s only 50,000 heads that are true to this
The rest are clueless to what real hip hop music is
Plus the labels think that artists are pathetic, I don’t sweat it
If they take the credit I will send them to the medic
The industry will gas ya head up, you ain’t shit to them, don’t get fed up
'Cuz when you’re down and out they won’t help you get up
They sit around creating gimmicks, sky’s the limit, but to him it’s
Nothing, A&R men act like schizophrenics
Fuck the negative reviews, I sing the blues
'Cuz if I blow up I still lose
Now how can the musicians be the scholars
When they’re making less than four percent of six dollars?
Most of the kids that kick a rap just don’t deserve opinions, acting like
critics
Looking like Richard Simmons, now they’re sporting Timberlands
And I ain’t trying to be accepted, but it’s hectic
When you try to sell you records and ya record label don’t respect it
Now all these promotional stunts gets me emotional
Not hospitable, I’ll never recoup so it’s not profitable
And I can end up as white trash living in a trailer park
Eatin' tuna fish with my Cheez Whiz
«So how you’d get ya job in the black music department?»
Since I was growing up that’s where my heart went
I won’t be going out like Kurt Cobain, or Tattoo
«Da plane, da plane!»
jibba jibba jib, Jane!
So if my sales don’t exceed the expectations
My relation-ships will be Uzi clips and decapitations
'Cuz the fact is, technically, I need a vasectomy
No pregnancy, kids got the tendency to be sweating me
So do ya own!
Them scumbags is making moneybags
In the meantime, ya Karl Kanis turn to rags
'Cuz labels don’t know shitty rappers from any rappers
So listen rappers, they only know how to pinch a penny, rappers
I end up bankrupt and penniless, while you remain the rich man
My fist is up your ass to rip ya lips off
This ain’t the rock and roll era, so how could you know what’s worse or better?
Chilling in ya polyester sweater
A big advancement doesn’t make the move the wisest
'Cuz Def Jam offered me more loot than Jive did
And the executives at labels, they about equal to McDonald’s workers
They all down to jerk us, trying to keep us poor on purpose
They expect that respect that they don’t give, so don’t think that it’s negative
If you don’t want to let a record executive live
Now pretty bitches wind up giving up they butts
But I’m used to busting nuts in stank perverted sluts
Just the thought of getting signed, you masturbated
Can’t you see the industry is gold-plated?
«He sounds like Ice Cube, let’s sign him!
He sounds like Onyx, let’s sign him!
He sounds like that shit that’s hittin', let’s sign him!»
God forbid I get HIV
I’d be bitin' people and spittin' blood at the entire music industry