B. Dolan - 100 Bars for SFR lyrics
[B. Dolan - 100 Bars for SFR lyrics]
No bullet, no ballot, no banker, no brand
No border patrol man will answer who I am
Know my words like the burns on
The back of my hand
Got my eyes on the hurricane
The voice of command
Good man and I stand upfront
And I know my father died
Feeling proud of his son
And I know I got soul, I don't need your love
This love, respect love, but in rust I trust
Indifference in pop trends
And underground buzz
Digital junk collect dust
We live in the air now
Deliver the physical touch is too abstract
Too dope for radio as a matter of fact
Too bad for the TV
Too grown for the Internet
Rapping like you give a fuck
Hipsters ain't into it yet
It's blues music, tell you the truth use it
Quit saying I sound like Sage, stupid
I sound like the Wu did before the double LP
Sound like Kool G Rap or Kool Moe Dee
Aggression of a young LL, Chuck D
A little KRS-One, a little Biz Markie
And that's a real motherfucking
Well rounded MC and if it wasn't so tough
You could sound like me
The darkness of Scarface
The aim of Bambaataa
Pollute mind state, anti-pop monster
Sound like Freddie Foxxx
I sound like Billy Danz
I study Pharoahe Monch, Boot Camp and Redman
I am trying to shatter stages
Like Daddy Kane did
If it sounds like good shit
It must be Strange Famous
It must be Strange Famous
I'm gonna be rapping buddy no chorus
Just play the bee noise while I kill it
See, I'm influenced by the planet we ruin
Personal is political
You pigeonhole my music
Personal for the children
Original style mutant the age of reinvention
The present and past future
Pursuing the rapping movement
And changing too quickly to bite
A sucker might say he nice
But they could never touch the way B writes
Stage dive alive, Evel
King Kong on the sub off for pushing people
Grab them by the throat
So they know it's the real you
All I see is smoke and the
Blow in the rear view you don't want the mic
You want advice about career moves
Let me steer you, you should wear suit's
In fact
You should fall back on your fall back
Or major in black studies and
Take a course in rap
You better off with that
Than to walk the path
Sit back and imagine if Mac Miller
And Asher Roth did that ha!
We come through
Robbin kill whitey parties for
The fake drug jewels you need more
But, you probably wouldn't last
The way we tour been fly since
Worn out cassette tapes of Raising Hell
Now I'ma sell mp3's of House of Bees in 2012
Holler!
Age five struggling to stay alive
I saw my name on the grave
It gave me focus and drive
Looking into books for a a way to survive
I read the bible and Quran
And the writings of mystics
Obsessesion with lost text
Philosophies and scriptures
Bright kid, they said that I was never young
Tight lipped till I learned to make
A weapon of my tongue
Defending myself from dead mind states
Age 12, told my parents I was a writer
My father made me throw my
First story in the fireplace my fire escaped
I fought a brutal rebellion
And stepped into the world as a veteran
Discovered rap in the basement
Of an FM spectrum connected with the rage
But, I stayed for the lessons
I heard the truth in the message
Hip hop raised me so I headed for the center
Age 18, New York city, dark winter
Overexposure to cold left me bitter
Till I stepped on stage and
Made mother fuckers sit up
The snake men were trying to get with me
I went to that party, met Russell
Then I left on some fuck the industry
Let's just get bloody
And spent the first rent's money
On a drum machine
And ever since then they've been
Dying to unplug me
But death couldn't get rid of me
Give me the next one, buddy ok!
Back to the present
Cracking ya chest with adrenalin
White rapper minstrel show, black president
Lack of development
I'mma need a liaison to drop off a A-bomb
To fucking creation drake songs on the radio
Swine flu in Idaho
Rappers owned rhythm then they gave
It to a side-show
Lead based toys of the industry on viral
Yelling to make some noise
At what passes for a live show
Rapping over vocal tracks
Outperformed by local acts
What part of the game is that?
Tie a lung hung my back
60 Seconds or less to
Professionally serve you
Crowd surf out and go work
A fucking merch booth
Drop 12 hours through a blizzard, no pause
Get to the next city right
Before they open doors
B dolan mangles your language
And mishandles the baggage
Holding hands on the veranda
With Hannah Montana doing damage
Did I fuck that up?
No border patrol man will answer who I am
Know my words like the burns on
The back of my hand
Got my eyes on the hurricane
The voice of command
Good man and I stand upfront
And I know my father died
Feeling proud of his son
And I know I got soul, I don't need your love
This love, respect love, but in rust I trust
Indifference in pop trends
And underground buzz
Digital junk collect dust
We live in the air now
Deliver the physical touch is too abstract
Too dope for radio as a matter of fact
Too bad for the TV
Too grown for the Internet
Rapping like you give a fuck
Hipsters ain't into it yet
It's blues music, tell you the truth use it
Quit saying I sound like Sage, stupid
I sound like the Wu did before the double LP
Sound like Kool G Rap or Kool Moe Dee
Aggression of a young LL, Chuck D
A little KRS-One, a little Biz Markie
And that's a real motherfucking
Well rounded MC and if it wasn't so tough
You could sound like me
The darkness of Scarface
The aim of Bambaataa
Pollute mind state, anti-pop monster
Sound like Freddie Foxxx
I sound like Billy Danz
I study Pharoahe Monch, Boot Camp and Redman
I am trying to shatter stages
Like Daddy Kane did
If it sounds like good shit
It must be Strange Famous
It must be Strange Famous
I'm gonna be rapping buddy no chorus
Just play the bee noise while I kill it
See, I'm influenced by the planet we ruin
Personal is political
You pigeonhole my music
Personal for the children
Original style mutant the age of reinvention
The present and past future
Pursuing the rapping movement
And changing too quickly to bite
A sucker might say he nice
But they could never touch the way B writes
Stage dive alive, Evel
King Kong on the sub off for pushing people
Grab them by the throat
So they know it's the real you
All I see is smoke and the
Blow in the rear view you don't want the mic
You want advice about career moves
Let me steer you, you should wear suit's
In fact
You should fall back on your fall back
Or major in black studies and
Take a course in rap
You better off with that
Than to walk the path
Sit back and imagine if Mac Miller
And Asher Roth did that ha!
We come through
Robbin kill whitey parties for
The fake drug jewels you need more
But, you probably wouldn't last
The way we tour been fly since
Worn out cassette tapes of Raising Hell
Now I'ma sell mp3's of House of Bees in 2012
Holler!
Age five struggling to stay alive
I saw my name on the grave
It gave me focus and drive
Looking into books for a a way to survive
I read the bible and Quran
And the writings of mystics
Obsessesion with lost text
Philosophies and scriptures
Bright kid, they said that I was never young
Tight lipped till I learned to make
A weapon of my tongue
Defending myself from dead mind states
Age 12, told my parents I was a writer
My father made me throw my
First story in the fireplace my fire escaped
I fought a brutal rebellion
And stepped into the world as a veteran
Discovered rap in the basement
Of an FM spectrum connected with the rage
But, I stayed for the lessons
I heard the truth in the message
Hip hop raised me so I headed for the center
Age 18, New York city, dark winter
Overexposure to cold left me bitter
Till I stepped on stage and
Made mother fuckers sit up
The snake men were trying to get with me
I went to that party, met Russell
Then I left on some fuck the industry
Let's just get bloody
And spent the first rent's money
On a drum machine
And ever since then they've been
Dying to unplug me
But death couldn't get rid of me
Give me the next one, buddy ok!
Back to the present
Cracking ya chest with adrenalin
White rapper minstrel show, black president
Lack of development
I'mma need a liaison to drop off a A-bomb
To fucking creation drake songs on the radio
Swine flu in Idaho
Rappers owned rhythm then they gave
It to a side-show
Lead based toys of the industry on viral
Yelling to make some noise
At what passes for a live show
Rapping over vocal tracks
Outperformed by local acts
What part of the game is that?
Tie a lung hung my back
60 Seconds or less to
Professionally serve you
Crowd surf out and go work
A fucking merch booth
Drop 12 hours through a blizzard, no pause
Get to the next city right
Before they open doors
B dolan mangles your language
And mishandles the baggage
Holding hands on the veranda
With Hannah Montana doing damage
Did I fuck that up?