Hear What I Say! Lyrics

[Intro: kung fu sample]
You're here to learn kung fu, remember?
This is not a rest home...
Now go on, do some practice!

[Bronze Nazareth:]
I'll prolly never be as big as Slim Shady or Jay-Z
Even though I write vivid like a home of the Greek
And study life like Socrates, without MTV
You think ya thugs, but for real, I sat offense with robbery
I'm try'nna walk the desert sands like RZA and Ringz
Gotta eat and beast, don't pay the bills, unless you got a name
Like The Neptunes, Jazze Pha or Kanye West
And if the album ain't five mics, don't front like it is
I got classic material without a mixtape host
Love Pac and B.I.G., but I miss Pun the most
I'm so underground, I play beats on the bowls, with mega errors
Sitting next to Murs, Immortal Technique and The Beggaz
Like Vernon Johnson with no voice, you'll never hear my message
Not on the block, selling cooked rocks to my sisters
Not in the club all hard with credit cards in your ass
Driving 86, got mad when Goodie Mob didn't last
Just wanted more "Soul Food" and an occassional "party"
Just wanted you to hear what I say, love it or disregard it
Just wanted Hot 97 to play my shit, like they promised
They never did, but probably payola was loudest I'm like Van Gogh's paintings, you'll never hear my talents
It's the sound of neglect, that makes me green with malace
Search Kay found my music, he ain't answer me in a while
I was hoping The Unknown album got signed by Kevin Liles
But I never heard back from him, or Artist Direct
Sat in my room and watched Stagga Lee disrespect rap
While Khia got her neck and back, licked by the millions
I tried to tell you about history, mansions and killings
Like how the Wu-Tang gave the knowledge, but you just wanted to dance
Shame on family and friends, ain't buy Birth of a Prince
My debut, starting a war, but what's the f*cking purpose?
You faggots rhyme weak, but everybody's spitting verses
We used to follow Martin Luther, up in Capitol Hill
Now you follow every rap artist whose throwback is I'll
Albums weak now, internet didn't f*ck up your sales
12 producers, on 12 songs, your shit can't gel
It's just a compilation album, full of your wack songs
And bitches dancin' all in your video with black thongs
All I wanted was for Steve Rifkind to listen, push play
And for those whose not listening, to hear what I say
f*ck, man...

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