Politics

歌詞

Oh mercy, mercy me. At this point of my career I should already be on my third CD/ But every turn of the way has been met with adversity/ But I’m cursed, it seems, and I been disserviced purposely/ And it’s herbs like these, that’ve got my blood boiling to the third degree/ And I’m nervously avoiding this urge to just burst and scream/ Feeling the thirst for revenge! I can no longer pretend/ That mentally I won’t be plummeting off the deep end/ I’m desperately seeking these trendy motherfuckers, Just so I can teach them never to speak on any of us/ There’s something you wanna say? Get that other rapper’s cock out your throat! No wonder he’s been coming out your face/ Son, never doubt The Plague, cause we infect against even the best/ medicines and vaccines, sedatives and bactrine/ I’m fed up with the rap scene/ As I’m Dealing with an amount of politics that would even give the president bad dreams/ Every thing you see and hear was paid for/ So, don’t try to discredit me, cause my shit isn’t played more/ Just imagine having to wait, bored, at the stage door/ Cause nothing aches worse than a name on the marquis when it ain’t yours/ And you’re trying desperately to make noise, but all you get’s hate, From biased record pools that’ll chart anything for their next crate/ Or elitist DJs that only spin vinyl – ‘go get pressed!’/ But give ‘em a Nas exclusive MP3 and they’ll play the shit dead. These vicious double-standards can be seen in many arenas of the game/ From radio burn to video screens, the shit’s the same/ From Magazines to mix DJs – You give ‘em the green, they give the OK Cause niggas are greedy leading the race, they sell you a dream and spit in your face/ And it isn’t easy to look away, when you’re focused on your Budden career/ Pumped up with potential, but you can’t fire nothing from here/ Need anything done? Then you gotta do it yourself with no help/ When you make on your own? Then everyone shows to share the whole wealth. But, Oh well – Another day in a cold hell. When everyone riding your coattails are the same cats that’ll pray your record don’t sell/ I won’t settle for NO REMARKS about ‘room for improvement’/ When you boo at QN5 and refuse to review the music/ Bitch, you’re fronting on the future, stop watching your back and face forward/ Reviewers best to listen to this like they paid for it/ Cause, what the fuck!? Do I need to get shot to get props? Do you need talent? I guess not... but with drug money and a guest spot/ You can spend lots on a track from the producer of the month/ And that’ll induce you with the buzz, that’ll get you news-scoops and the pub/ But Buddy, I’m flat broke. So on that note, I’ll say goodbye to articles/ Bookings for college shows, distribution pushing us hard for dough/ Then you wondering why you’re seeing the same niggas over and over/ The more original the flow, then, the colder the shoulder/ The same reason you can’t stand that verse you heard’s/ The same reason you know it word for word. Dog, it’s Politics. My patience is drifting/ Cause I’m in no political position or famous enough to state my opinion/ Of this game and it’s minions, I’m staying silent and numb/ Cause you can’t put your foot in your mouth or swallow your words while you’re biting your tongue/ So with nice-guy reluctance, I’m fighting my grudges/ And it’s hard to be polite with others when you’d rather take a knife to fuckers/ Here’s my final shot at diplomacy – believe this/ Swing for your third strike, I’m calling you out on the remix/ Chorus: I cant breath And I can’t see And I can’t move Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics I can’t sleep And I can’t think And I can’t live Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics.