Let me tell you a little story about the slave master.
Use a whip on your ass so you behave faster.
You got chains on your neck, and the Man's respect.
You'll work all damn day, but you will never see a check
In the field. Cotton you yield. Your skin peels off your back
From the crack of the whip. It won't heal.
Ya wish you had a shield 'cause he wields iron,
So when you act up, he smokes ya and keeps firing.
And it's tiring.
Forget about recreation.
One wrong move and it's death you're facing.
White motha fuckaz got the ball and chain
On your leg, and in the form of religion on your brain.
They say, "You the devil."
You say, "Who the devil?!?!"
Some of us was house niggers. Some of us was rebels.
Some tried to get along the best they could.
And didn't nobody use the phrase, "It's all good!"
Would you? They got you living like a shrew.
They throw you pig lips and chicken gizzards. Then you make a stew.
They give us a white Jesus to appease us.
We talk among ourselves and hope nobody sees us.
They had our brothers beating us. Called us createns plus monkeys.
They just junkies mistreating us.
The master said, "If you don't whip 'em, you're dead!"
It was fucking with his head, but he beat us instead.
And we bled.
Red blood flowing like a flood.
Then he'd rape your mother. Stick her face in the mud.
They were ruthless! If you tried to front, you'd be toothless.
Some tried to run even though it seemed useless.
Virginity was torn. Soon babies was born that was half white.
And now his skin is kind of light.
You think you're special, because they let you
Oversee the carnage? But I bet you
Will get hung, even if you stick out your tounge.
'Cause they pull out the shank and stick it right through you're lung.
Now it's 96 and white people say, "Forget it.
It's all in the past." And some even regret it.
'Cause they think we'll set it.
Now my missions to get federal
So I can raise a black family with a true devils
And you know how that goes.
(Chorus 2x)
The slave master watching over you,
Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do!
The slave master watching over you,
But ain't nothing gonna stop me and my crew!
This is for you kids trying to get signed.
Just a little something you should keep in mind:
The labels are slave masters. Artists are slaves.
Don't get too raunchy. They want you to behave.
You get signed. You're thinking, "This is great!"
But wait You never knew what was at stake.
Creative control they withold.
You sell your soul when you sign on the dotted line hoping to go gold.
But you'll never see that, not without promotion.
The label'll just throw your shit out, and got it floatin'.
You think your shit is potent, but ain't nobody buying it.
If they ain't never heard of it, ain't nobody trying it.
If they ain't never heard of it 'your record' they murder it.
You can complain. But they are not concerned a bit.
'Cause when they signed you, they thought you'd make a hit
'cause of who you were affiliated with, and all that bullshit.
Frustrations. All these rules and regulations
Just so you can have your shit heard by the nation.
And be patient.
'Cause by the time they find a lead release, your shit is ancient.
You think they're working your album? You're mistaken.
And if you flop, you get dropped.
'Cause you ain't the star. You didn't go pop.
Just straight up hip-hop. Time to get a mop.
'Cause without no promotion, of course sales drop.
Peep the break down: If tapes cost ($)10,
You'll probaably only get to see a dollar in the end,
That you cannot spend. Cause your budget gets recouped.
So you never get cash unless your record is "Shoop."
You better hope you get shows, which will not happen
If you don't have a record that's the main attraction.
Even if you sell a million, you'll get burned
Cause they keep half your cash just in case of returns.
For a while, you wonder why rappers don't smile.
'cause to them, you're not an artist. You're just another file.
Another nigger used to make another buck.
They don't give a fuck. And if your shit don't blow up, tough.
But the star gets both promotion and devotion
From the whole fucking staff. At you, they laugh.
The star probably don't know that he the house nigger.
Thinking he bigger cause he's the, pick of the litter.
These lebels think backwards. They push the acts that need it the least
So they can get all the money they can when it's released.
They take you to a restarant for a feast,
And then expect you to pck up the check?
That's why I give props to niggaz who is independent:
'Cause they make they own money, plus decide how to spend it.
Splendid.And lets end it.
And don't get offended.
(Chorus 2x)
The slave master watching over you,
Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do.
The slave master watching over you,
But ain't nothing gonna stop me and my crew.
Hieroglyphics!
Use a whip on your ass so you behave faster.
You got chains on your neck, and the Man's respect.
You'll work all damn day, but you will never see a check
In the field. Cotton you yield. Your skin peels off your back
From the crack of the whip. It won't heal.
Ya wish you had a shield 'cause he wields iron,
So when you act up, he smokes ya and keeps firing.
And it's tiring.
Forget about recreation.
One wrong move and it's death you're facing.
White motha fuckaz got the ball and chain
On your leg, and in the form of religion on your brain.
They say, "You the devil."
You say, "Who the devil?!?!"
Some of us was house niggers. Some of us was rebels.
Some tried to get along the best they could.
And didn't nobody use the phrase, "It's all good!"
Would you? They got you living like a shrew.
They throw you pig lips and chicken gizzards. Then you make a stew.
They give us a white Jesus to appease us.
We talk among ourselves and hope nobody sees us.
They had our brothers beating us. Called us createns plus monkeys.
They just junkies mistreating us.
The master said, "If you don't whip 'em, you're dead!"
It was fucking with his head, but he beat us instead.
And we bled.
Red blood flowing like a flood.
Then he'd rape your mother. Stick her face in the mud.
They were ruthless! If you tried to front, you'd be toothless.
Some tried to run even though it seemed useless.
Virginity was torn. Soon babies was born that was half white.
And now his skin is kind of light.
You think you're special, because they let you
Oversee the carnage? But I bet you
Will get hung, even if you stick out your tounge.
'Cause they pull out the shank and stick it right through you're lung.
Now it's 96 and white people say, "Forget it.
It's all in the past." And some even regret it.
'Cause they think we'll set it.
Now my missions to get federal
So I can raise a black family with a true devils
And you know how that goes.
(Chorus 2x)
The slave master watching over you,
Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do!
The slave master watching over you,
But ain't nothing gonna stop me and my crew!
This is for you kids trying to get signed.
Just a little something you should keep in mind:
The labels are slave masters. Artists are slaves.
Don't get too raunchy. They want you to behave.
You get signed. You're thinking, "This is great!"
But wait You never knew what was at stake.
Creative control they withold.
You sell your soul when you sign on the dotted line hoping to go gold.
But you'll never see that, not without promotion.
The label'll just throw your shit out, and got it floatin'.
You think your shit is potent, but ain't nobody buying it.
If they ain't never heard of it, ain't nobody trying it.
If they ain't never heard of it 'your record' they murder it.
You can complain. But they are not concerned a bit.
'Cause when they signed you, they thought you'd make a hit
'cause of who you were affiliated with, and all that bullshit.
Frustrations. All these rules and regulations
Just so you can have your shit heard by the nation.
And be patient.
'Cause by the time they find a lead release, your shit is ancient.
You think they're working your album? You're mistaken.
And if you flop, you get dropped.
'Cause you ain't the star. You didn't go pop.
Just straight up hip-hop. Time to get a mop.
'Cause without no promotion, of course sales drop.
Peep the break down: If tapes cost ($)10,
You'll probaably only get to see a dollar in the end,
That you cannot spend. Cause your budget gets recouped.
So you never get cash unless your record is "Shoop."
You better hope you get shows, which will not happen
If you don't have a record that's the main attraction.
Even if you sell a million, you'll get burned
Cause they keep half your cash just in case of returns.
For a while, you wonder why rappers don't smile.
'cause to them, you're not an artist. You're just another file.
Another nigger used to make another buck.
They don't give a fuck. And if your shit don't blow up, tough.
But the star gets both promotion and devotion
From the whole fucking staff. At you, they laugh.
The star probably don't know that he the house nigger.
Thinking he bigger cause he's the, pick of the litter.
These lebels think backwards. They push the acts that need it the least
So they can get all the money they can when it's released.
They take you to a restarant for a feast,
And then expect you to pck up the check?
That's why I give props to niggaz who is independent:
'Cause they make they own money, plus decide how to spend it.
Splendid.And lets end it.
And don't get offended.
(Chorus 2x)
The slave master watching over you,
Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do.
The slave master watching over you,
But ain't nothing gonna stop me and my crew.
Hieroglyphics!
Originally Posted by ChrisDom
wtf is that shiz?
Confirmation of your worse fears
Ever since his first years had a thirst for beers
Back from the future, it'll make you more sober-er
And brought back a long list of fakers who crossed over
I'm like, fuck it, bubble-baller
Catch ‘em up at Bob's show, stall him with a troubled caller
Bastard, who could make G's faster
Than a newly re-mastered while being truly plastered
There's four sides to every story
If these walls could talk, they'd probably still ignore me
Contemplate war over a cup of warm coffee
It's really getting gory, tell your problem to Maury
Don't bore V with the "glory, hallelu-ey"
Crews be like, foo-ey he's just a buncha hoo-ey
I knew he had new G, who he? Viktor Vaughn
He had a new sicker song, I think he call it "Lickupon"
Umm but uh, he study rhymes and patter-ins
Climb so steep sometimes the beat don't be mattering
Sounded like a half-dead from Scurvy band rock
A programmed, computer bio-grafted Herbie Hancock
Maybe next life he'll try harder
Died a martyr at the hands of the fire-starter
More scripts ripped available for via barter
Transport a stack to the lab via charter
On the microphone he came to daze and amaze ya'
What a guy, practice banging flies with razors
And watch out for the robot, he got eyes with lasers
Tell ‘em when they come with more topics besides blazers
Enough with the guns already, they're all toys and lames
The joy's in the aim, he asked him, how's ya' poison game?
Do you bust your crossbow? Also, more so
Accurate body blows to torso, thought so
These flows you won't find in no "how-to"
If the blacksmith doubt you, he smack the shit out you
Make nothing gone, let nothing twitch
Just don't be near the mic when the on-button switch
V bring the beef like a trucker to Fuddrucker
Delivery to all y'all motherfuckers and bloodsucker
Coping more pleas than when a rap nigga bicker on
And that's my word is bond, I think he call it "Lickupon"
Umm, he wrote this one with a fever sick in bed
With his dickhead inside a chickenhead
No, a dead chicken's head, he said it help his nausea
If he lost ya', wait ‘til he tell you about the flying saucer
Dag, the kickback'll leave your wig ragged
For a big bag of good grizzle and some Zig-Zag
Survival, keep a rival in denial
And bust what he got just for coming out his pie-hole
Die calmer than a suicide-bomber
V just the type to do a hoo-ride with momma
Said to James Bond, my name is Viktor, Viktor Vaughn
Told the chick the quickest way to get on, lickupon
Ever since his first years had a thirst for beers
Back from the future, it'll make you more sober-er
And brought back a long list of fakers who crossed over
I'm like, fuck it, bubble-baller
Catch ‘em up at Bob's show, stall him with a troubled caller
Bastard, who could make G's faster
Than a newly re-mastered while being truly plastered
There's four sides to every story
If these walls could talk, they'd probably still ignore me
Contemplate war over a cup of warm coffee
It's really getting gory, tell your problem to Maury
Don't bore V with the "glory, hallelu-ey"
Crews be like, foo-ey he's just a buncha hoo-ey
I knew he had new G, who he? Viktor Vaughn
He had a new sicker song, I think he call it "Lickupon"
Umm but uh, he study rhymes and patter-ins
Climb so steep sometimes the beat don't be mattering
Sounded like a half-dead from Scurvy band rock
A programmed, computer bio-grafted Herbie Hancock
Maybe next life he'll try harder
Died a martyr at the hands of the fire-starter
More scripts ripped available for via barter
Transport a stack to the lab via charter
On the microphone he came to daze and amaze ya'
What a guy, practice banging flies with razors
And watch out for the robot, he got eyes with lasers
Tell ‘em when they come with more topics besides blazers
Enough with the guns already, they're all toys and lames
The joy's in the aim, he asked him, how's ya' poison game?
Do you bust your crossbow? Also, more so
Accurate body blows to torso, thought so
These flows you won't find in no "how-to"
If the blacksmith doubt you, he smack the shit out you
Make nothing gone, let nothing twitch
Just don't be near the mic when the on-button switch
V bring the beef like a trucker to Fuddrucker
Delivery to all y'all motherfuckers and bloodsucker
Coping more pleas than when a rap nigga bicker on
And that's my word is bond, I think he call it "Lickupon"
Umm, he wrote this one with a fever sick in bed
With his dickhead inside a chickenhead
No, a dead chicken's head, he said it help his nausea
If he lost ya', wait ‘til he tell you about the flying saucer
Dag, the kickback'll leave your wig ragged
For a big bag of good grizzle and some Zig-Zag
Survival, keep a rival in denial
And bust what he got just for coming out his pie-hole
Die calmer than a suicide-bomber
V just the type to do a hoo-ride with momma
Said to James Bond, my name is Viktor, Viktor Vaughn
Told the chick the quickest way to get on, lickupon
Originally Posted by mrninja
wtf zeipher
CHUCK D:
Burn Hollywood burn I smell a riot
Goin' on first htey're guilty now they're gone
Yeah I'll check out a movie
But it'll take a Black one to move me
Get me the hell away from this TV
All this news and views are beneath me
Cause all I hear about is shots ringin' out
So I rather kick some slang out
All right fellas let's go hand out
Hollywood or would they not
Make us all look bad like I know they had
But some things I'll never forget yeah
So step and fetch this shit
For all the years we looked like clowns
The joke is over smell the smoke from all around
Burn Hollywood burn
ICE CUBE:
Ice Cube is down with the PE
Now every single bitch wanna see me
Big Daddy is smooth word to muther
Let's check out a flick that exploits the color
Roamin' thru Hollywood late at night
Red and blue lights what a common sight
Pulled to the curb gettin' played like a sucker
Don't fight the power ... the mother fucker
BIG DADDY KANE:
As I walk the streets of Hollywood Boulevard
Thinin' how hard it was to those that starred
In the movies portrayin' the roles
Of butlers and maids slaves and hoes
Many intelligent Black men seemed to look uncivilized
When on the screen
Like a guess I figure you to play some jigaboo
On the plantation, what else can a nigger do
And Black women in this profession
As for playin' a lawyer, out of the question
For what they play Aunt Jemima is the perfect term
Even if now she got a perm
So let's make our own movies like Spike Lee
Cause the roles being offered don't strike me
There's nothing that the Black man could use to earn
Burn Hollywood burn
Burn Hollywood burn I smell a riot
Goin' on first htey're guilty now they're gone
Yeah I'll check out a movie
But it'll take a Black one to move me
Get me the hell away from this TV
All this news and views are beneath me
Cause all I hear about is shots ringin' out
So I rather kick some slang out
All right fellas let's go hand out
Hollywood or would they not
Make us all look bad like I know they had
But some things I'll never forget yeah
So step and fetch this shit
For all the years we looked like clowns
The joke is over smell the smoke from all around
Burn Hollywood burn
ICE CUBE:
Ice Cube is down with the PE
Now every single bitch wanna see me
Big Daddy is smooth word to muther
Let's check out a flick that exploits the color
Roamin' thru Hollywood late at night
Red and blue lights what a common sight
Pulled to the curb gettin' played like a sucker
Don't fight the power ... the mother fucker
BIG DADDY KANE:
As I walk the streets of Hollywood Boulevard
Thinin' how hard it was to those that starred
In the movies portrayin' the roles
Of butlers and maids slaves and hoes
Many intelligent Black men seemed to look uncivilized
When on the screen
Like a guess I figure you to play some jigaboo
On the plantation, what else can a nigger do
And Black women in this profession
As for playin' a lawyer, out of the question
For what they play Aunt Jemima is the perfect term
Even if now she got a perm
So let's make our own movies like Spike Lee
Cause the roles being offered don't strike me
There's nothing that the Black man could use to earn
Burn Hollywood burn
