Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hunter, artist - Tonedeff. Album song Hunter EP, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 22.09.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: QN5
Song language: English
Hunter |
Well, well |
Well if it isn’t this motherfucker again! |
Are you serious? |
You figured that nigga had disappeared and shit, but here he is |
Wielding the power of perspective you only get when investing years in this |
'Cause nothing’s more expensive than experience |
And I’m spent, delirious, ballin' outta my mind |
And I’ve lost it, I’m buying all of ya off, fall into line |
Every fraud has a price, and it’s bottom dollar bargaining time |
You can’t offer me bribes 'cause all that you’ve got is already mine |
But that’s awfully kind — thanks! |
Now shut your fucking mouth |
Y’all been fucking round |
In my fucking house |
I’m hearing the same voice coming out of a hundred mouths |
A hundred thou, if we count the underground |
And there’s nothing I frown upon harder than air quote «artists» |
Borrowing their whole product |
From whoever’s popular and then ain’t so modest |
Like they so hot because they so blogged |
Like it wasn’t their marketing dollars that paid for all it |
No, wait, don’t call it! |
Don’t hate, Tone! |
Play the game, don’t knock it |
But that is a lot like forcing me to swallow your snot, then being like |
«Hey! |
don’t vomit!» |
Y’all way too soft on these a-holes, dog |
I’m saying this shit from a place so honest, there ain’t no wrong in it |
Fuck everything! |
When I wrote Politics I was a kid acknowledging all of the shit |
Now I’m an adult and I feel like a prophet |
Like how many shots did I call? |
Shall I call an accountant? |
Since hip-hop, the counterculture, became the culture of counting |
Yet, accountability’s dead, we just out for them checks |
So proud that we gotta sell out for respect |
And the barely hidden insincerity is so foul, you live with the threat |
That high-fives are always followed with a request |
Somebody said that success is the best revenge and it’s a point so valid |
That niggas is all network, no talent |
It’s an imbalance, so telling it like it is just might destroy your access |
To this circus of trend-whores with coke habits |
Well, I’ve had it! |
I’m earnest to the platelets in my bones |
And anyone afraid to burn a bridge is too lazy to build their own |
I’m obsessive-compulsive, reps are what I know |
A perfectionist with a restraining order, can’t leave well-enough alone |
So, I tend to expose the devil that’s close |
But that never bodes well for their soul-selling M. O |
Like when a distributor fell in a hole and said they were broke |
But they kept what they sold so I never saw a cent of my dough |
Here’s another lesson to quote: |
Becoming friends with the press is a no |
'Cause they grow resentful, it’s best the less that they know |
Them motherfuckers pretend that they’re so essential, the probe isn’t farfetched |
They’re just star-fuckers with pencils in tow |
But yo, the most disrespectful joke especially low |
I bled for this, bro |
Even went to the post to send you this dope |
Indie is trendy so majors will cloak their artists as independents and pose |
That’s like repping organic Pepsi and Coke |
You didn’t do it yourself! |
You ain’t authentic, you never knew what I felt |
The disabling stress that ruined my health |
You’re claiming credit like you ain’t abetted by ludicrous wealth |
And then aided by numerous helpers |
You may fool 'em well, 'cause who’s gonna tell? |
Me, shitbag! |
Did you get a billion views from an elf? |
(Oh it’s magic!) |
Clear Channel don’t have no room on its shelves for a book of spells |
You know that shit’s bad when a kid’s hat |
Is a big splash and we skip past |
If he spits raps, but his hip dance |
Is a hit smash within six flat |
It’s a bitch slap in the face! |
When you’ve mastered a trade |
And every brick you’ve paved for their way is smashed in a day |
And so rappers become actors, and then actors become rappers |
This ain’t fantasy fulfillment, this shit is facts for the stage |
It went from sucka MCs to wack niggas to herbs |
To faggots, to lames, backpackers, netcees to nerds |
To hipsters to blog rappers to frat, struggle to drill |
But none of those names come if you’re ill |
I am the hunter that went for the jugular |
Spilling the blood of other hunters |
And still I summoned the hunger to kill |
But you bring out the worst in me |
'Cause them pickings ain’t nourishing |
And it eats me alive |
It hurts when my stomach is filled |
The new run of the mill: chasing fame |
In this day and age, when brutality’s raging |
Like fashion and throwing cash in our faces is gonna change it |
It’s vapid, it’s aimless, I can’t quit, I have to just say this |
'Cause I’m a fucking man — and that’s dedication |
End of statement |