Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Grammy Speech , by - Ras Kass. Song from the album Soul on Ice 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 05.09.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Mello
Song language: English
Grammy Speech |
| Had next after Pac died, right before Eminem |
| The West Coast spitter, the East Coast consider 'em |
| Synonym, I’m nice, A-Alike, «Anything Goes» |
| With the Al B. Sure «Day or Night», «Miami Life», slay a mic |
| Like Buster Douglas round ten, the money and fame |
| Saw my piece of the pie but never ate a slice |
| 'Cause I wrote «Nature of The Threat» and prolly paid the price |
| Plus when the homies low-key jealous, they hate your life |
| Deceitful cocksuckers, ungrateful motherfuckers |
| I’m KRS, y’all just some part-time suckas, good night |
| They told me fight the good fight |
| But y’all suck whoever cock in the limelight |
| And most of 'em don’t even rhyme tight |
| Call Ghostbusters, he don’t even write his own rhymes |
| 20/20 is hindsight, foreskin is uncircumcised |
| That’s a turtle-neck, not Kosher |
| Open your eyes while I try to get your mind right |
| Spat on my hands like Jesus Christ gave the blind sight |
| How may mics did I terrorize? |
| 100,000 on Twitter, still not verified? |
| My nigga, this a sham, its rigged |
| Rappers is hip-hop cops for the man, ya dig? |
| What happened to hip hop? |
| More insulting |
| Now the underground don’t respect skills if you don’t go pop |
| Ain’t that some backwards shit, though? |
| Like it jumping out the toilet bowl and squeezing back up in your asshole |
| Lot of basic bars, beats just 808 |
| Some of y’all so behind they prostate |
| When I state, it’s all state, you in good hands |
| VIP on GP, I don’t need a wristband |
| Diamond D, don’t call us OG, I’m not old school |
| I will shoot up the whole school |
| Get drunk off O’Doul’s, piss in your Pro Tools |
| UFC 229 with no rules |
| I want to thank the fans, my friends and family |
| For the one I’ll never win, this my Grammy speech |
| Huh? |
| Wait, hold on |
| I’m not finished |
| Huh? |
| Man, fuck that |
| Yeah, this thing on? |
| (Always tryna cut a nigga off) |
| Ayy, let that nigga keep goin' |
| Ayy, Ras, talk, nigga, talk |
| And this for leaving 'Pac out the 10 Greatest Rappers List |
| Whoever wrote that must of bumped they head and ate a dick |
| Whole industry monopolized on some hater shit |
| Shit is a sham, its glitz and glam |
| Smoke and mirrors, say real shit, get banned |
| Since master feed the artist, can’t bite the hand |
| You know you fucked up when you mic’d my stand |
| So they unplugged me, un-loved me |
| If I was a baby seal they would club me |
| Suddenly convince you I’m ugly, unlucky, just fuck me |
| But I’m lovely, ain’t a rapper breathing above me |
| Best lyricist, but so-called hip hop awards snubbed me |
| Label mad cause I won’t act like Buckwheat |
| Tried to find another path to succeed, they obstruct me |
| Industry execs on a smear campaign |
| Assassinated my character and bashed my name |
| «Ras a racist, he don’t like white people» |
| I don’t like stupid-ass black or white people quite equal |
| «He alcoholic» |
| Yeah ask every producer, artist and engineer I ever worked with |
| I’m always prepared, most professional, first in the booth |
| With the best verse as the proof |
| Fuckboys, I’m hurting your cooch |
| So while you nominate who dominate charts |
| But they don’t write, can’t sing, how you artists without art? |
| These niggas is mascots |
| Hiding behind brands, I be tearing they mask off |
| Y’all Ronald McDonald’s lip sync music |
| Colonel Sanders, fake recipes frontin' like he produced it |
| They hit sharks, all up in the studio lurkin' like |
| «That song hot, let me buy that» |
| Fake like he made that track, repeat that rap, wack! |
| Then act like he a fucking egomaniac |
| Yeah I’m talking to you ****, ****, **** |
| So I accept this award on behalf of the true emcee-ers |
| Whether the fans know it or not, they need us |
| Industry won’t feed us want us all living in Kias |
| Or force black men to get rich dressing like Madea |
| Shit, I keep it gangsta like «gyeah» WC, «niyah» |
| My rhymes sick, chlamydia |
| Middle finger in the air |
| Music industry can shove it up your rear |
| But a lot of y’all secretly into that lifestyle, fuck RIIA |
| This is called gravity |