| Showbiz got props, tell me who got the props
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| A.G. got props, tell me who got the props
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| Give me my props for '92
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| It’s me and Showbiz and this is what we gonna do
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| Give you some for now, save some for later
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| Here’s a portion, a-yo Show, kick the flavor
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| Record labels try to juice me
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| (For what?) For my papers
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| They offer me a mule
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| (And what else?) And 40 acres
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| I’m dissing snakes now, there’s no time to catch the vapors
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| And I’m not a pup (for what?) a Muppet caper
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| And all the ghetto groupies get free with the quickness
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| And Show concentrate and only think about business
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| I hate a sell-out because he put me in a rage
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| I play KRS and throw that ass off the stage
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| So give me my props because I always think clever
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| And ain’t nothing changed but the weather
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| (Get your act together) cause I got mines together
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| And please don’t front on the brother with the Pelle Pelle leather
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| I’m Show B-I-Z, my partner is A. G
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| Chill with Greg N-I-C-E or my brother D-R-E-S
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| And what’s up to Lord Finesse
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| And I’d like to give shouts to my peeps Shorty and Wes
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| People say I’m soup, crazy cash I recoup
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| Nowadays I just troop in my green Legend coupe
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| Record companies try to juice me for my papers
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| They offer me a mule and about 40 acres
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| They tried to game me for my royalties
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| Pushed me towards the dotted line but you know I didn’t sign
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| Labels know straight up when we meet
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| Interfere with my career then it’s back to the streets
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| Bang bang on the pow pow
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| I settled the beef the best way I know how
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| Police are savage beasts if I’m not taking care
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| Rap is my career and it’s my only way outta here
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| Every chance I do damage
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| And I manage to use all the anger to my advantage
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| All that is cool, but the brain is the tool
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| Gimme my props so we all can rule
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| Don’t show all my skills, I just sprinkle em
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| And now you’re sleeping on my props, wake up before you wrinkle them
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| Gimme my props yo, more than a cop yo
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| Til I master Hip Hop, I won’t stop yo (Repeat 4x)
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| (Gimme my props, I want mine)
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| (Gimme my props, I’m getting mine) (Repeat 2x)
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| They say BMW’s a Black Man Wish
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| I wish for an SP-1200 and some discs
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| (Negativity release), material will cease
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| Saying peace to the brothers in the belly of the beast
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| People saying «Why Show wanna rhyme?»
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| I didn’t wanna get bagged and do Fed time
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| I wanna live right and exact, I don’t wanna be the fat cat
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| Off the crack and have the Feds down my back
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| If the money’s stacked, take a step back, black
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| Or you’ll be wearing football numbers like a quarterback
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| I was raised one deep by mom dukes and no dad
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| And now I grab a #2 pencil and a pad
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| Or Erasermate if I make mistakes I erase
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| And me and Diamond go digging in the crates
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| (Where's my 40 acres?) Not the projects of course
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| I asked for a mule, I got a iron horse
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| Shit goes on as the song plays
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| (Can a devil fool a Muslim?)
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| Nah, not nowadays
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| On your mark, get set, pass the 40, let’s jet
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| A fat rhyme is what you want, a fat rhyme is what you’ll get
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| It’s thorough, from beginning to end
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| The beat is fat, what could I say? |
| Show you did it again
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| I got the hat on my head, Pepe’s on my behind
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| Fans on my back, and money on my mind
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| I don’t sweat the stress, take the bitter with the sweet
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| Did I let you know I have the Tims on my feet?
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| You knew my stats when I came around
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| Saying «Damn he’s living fat» when I haven’t even gained a pound
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| Friends til the end, never will I diss ya
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| My peoples R.I.P., you know I’m gonna miss ya
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| 40 acres and my props, the name of the song
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| A.G. is saying peace and I’m gone |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 40 Acres And My Props , by - Showbiz. Song from the album Runaway Slave, in the genre R&B