Ras Kass - Behind the Musick lyrics
[Ras Kass - Behind the Musick lyrics]
I spit for the cabbage, grind with a mission
And put Capitol Records
In missionary positions
Used to love HER like Common
But then you get signed
(Behind the Music) now I just
Fuck the music from behind
They wanna know how it feels
Locked on penitentiary tiers
Shit, I was locked down on
Priority for eight years
At least I got good time, half time in
Now it's halftime
I'm kicking ether like Nasir
Not here to be liked
Came to redefine control of a mic
Y'all still stoning prophets in spite
Not phased with my spot in the light
Let you tell it ras bitter and jealous
No I'm just better a spitter
They try to paint my LP's as mistakes
Tell me how you judge the greatest by
How many records are sold
I've got no regrets for the records I make
How can I disown my own soul?
This childhood hobby, adult hustle
Don't respect the God
Mother made you motherfuck you
My? gospel pull video of the year
Presented to you i'm stuck in a contract
No medical or dental boo i'm miserable
Y'all niggas think it's all gravy?
Stunt 'til they pay me
And I don't give a fuck
If I sold one or one million
But I see you do
Only good as your last record
Bad first week you're through
Music is a business and the business
Of business is to make money
Creativity, they take from me
I never flopped, I just stayed hip-hop
When y'all hijacked rap music
Crashed into pop
Watch dudes go plat', and overnight hot
Then every clown run to use
The same producer he got
And now your song ain't a hit
If so-and-so ain't make the beat
Same dickriders used to say
That nigga's beats weak
Just Blaze said it best
- collabo's happen now
For strategy and marketing
Niggas only doing features
If your SoundScan sparkling no more magic
Pullin my leg like Go Go Gadget
One minute they hate you
Next minute they love you
Next minute it's fuck you
Then they forget you
You can play the coon, clown around this year
Trust me, you won't be around next year
One minute they hate you
Next minute they love you
Next minute it's fuck you
Then they forget you
Think I've figured out this hip-hop shit
Hypocrites put you on a pedestal
Just to kick you down that bitch
I'm still a rap fan, microphone fiend
An insider like Russell Crowe
Behind the scenes you can be the hottest MC
Literally leave the mic smoking
No marketing and promotion
No 106 & Park, no TRL
Don't kill the messenger homey but
Don't expect to sell viacom own MTV, VH1
BET, five labels until BMG
Merged with Sony, EMI, Universal and WEA
Only four labels in the music industry bruh
All radio controlled by two companies
Just two rap magazines
Read between the lines
Hip-hop used to be the expression
Of struggle with rhymes
Corporate monopolized
Only certain shit shines
Only way to get radio and video and blow
They control what you say
And the images you show
CNN owned by AOL, own Time Warner
Trickle down effect of the New World Order
And you wonder why "Van Gogh" was killed
Same reason Dead Prez lost they deal
Get real
I spit for the cabbage, grind with a mission
And put Capitol Records
In missionary positions
Used to love HER like Common
But then you get signed
(Behind the Music) now I just
Fuck the music from behind
Magazine writers misprint you
Take words out of context
And got the nerve to wonder why I'm vexed
When I read the publication
I was like "Damn
Was we in the same conversation?"
This for the rap conniseurs, magazine critics
Backpackers, rap stars with bullshit gimmicks
Fans, even the "Stans
" the groupies and label executives
With corporate cards trickin my
Budget on coochie
Video chicks sucking dick between takes
Hoping to get saved
And thanks for the ass shake
Like Dave Chappelle in "Half Baked
" need a backyotomy
And some of these thugs is into sodomy
Large print giveth, fine print taketh away
Your favorite rapper ain't recoup
Label take it away
Have a nigga tempted to take an AK
Goin postal
Rap made me loco, hustle bicoastal
(Why?) Because the West monopolize
Same ol' niggas tellin the same ol' lies
LA radio, quick to suck out of town dick
South support they own
Create international hit's
Out of regional records
East coast create the buzz
Music capitol of the world
Thought it wasn't when it was
And somehow manage to screw us
Call West coast gangster rap whack
Then sold it back to us
And put Capitol Records
In missionary positions
Used to love HER like Common
But then you get signed
(Behind the Music) now I just
Fuck the music from behind
They wanna know how it feels
Locked on penitentiary tiers
Shit, I was locked down on
Priority for eight years
At least I got good time, half time in
Now it's halftime
I'm kicking ether like Nasir
Not here to be liked
Came to redefine control of a mic
Y'all still stoning prophets in spite
Not phased with my spot in the light
Let you tell it ras bitter and jealous
No I'm just better a spitter
They try to paint my LP's as mistakes
Tell me how you judge the greatest by
How many records are sold
I've got no regrets for the records I make
How can I disown my own soul?
This childhood hobby, adult hustle
Don't respect the God
Mother made you motherfuck you
My? gospel pull video of the year
Presented to you i'm stuck in a contract
No medical or dental boo i'm miserable
Y'all niggas think it's all gravy?
Stunt 'til they pay me
And I don't give a fuck
If I sold one or one million
But I see you do
Only good as your last record
Bad first week you're through
Music is a business and the business
Of business is to make money
Creativity, they take from me
I never flopped, I just stayed hip-hop
When y'all hijacked rap music
Crashed into pop
Watch dudes go plat', and overnight hot
Then every clown run to use
The same producer he got
And now your song ain't a hit
If so-and-so ain't make the beat
Same dickriders used to say
That nigga's beats weak
Just Blaze said it best
- collabo's happen now
For strategy and marketing
Niggas only doing features
If your SoundScan sparkling no more magic
Pullin my leg like Go Go Gadget
One minute they hate you
Next minute they love you
Next minute it's fuck you
Then they forget you
You can play the coon, clown around this year
Trust me, you won't be around next year
One minute they hate you
Next minute they love you
Next minute it's fuck you
Then they forget you
Think I've figured out this hip-hop shit
Hypocrites put you on a pedestal
Just to kick you down that bitch
I'm still a rap fan, microphone fiend
An insider like Russell Crowe
Behind the scenes you can be the hottest MC
Literally leave the mic smoking
No marketing and promotion
No 106 & Park, no TRL
Don't kill the messenger homey but
Don't expect to sell viacom own MTV, VH1
BET, five labels until BMG
Merged with Sony, EMI, Universal and WEA
Only four labels in the music industry bruh
All radio controlled by two companies
Just two rap magazines
Read between the lines
Hip-hop used to be the expression
Of struggle with rhymes
Corporate monopolized
Only certain shit shines
Only way to get radio and video and blow
They control what you say
And the images you show
CNN owned by AOL, own Time Warner
Trickle down effect of the New World Order
And you wonder why "Van Gogh" was killed
Same reason Dead Prez lost they deal
Get real
I spit for the cabbage, grind with a mission
And put Capitol Records
In missionary positions
Used to love HER like Common
But then you get signed
(Behind the Music) now I just
Fuck the music from behind
Magazine writers misprint you
Take words out of context
And got the nerve to wonder why I'm vexed
When I read the publication
I was like "Damn
Was we in the same conversation?"
This for the rap conniseurs, magazine critics
Backpackers, rap stars with bullshit gimmicks
Fans, even the "Stans
" the groupies and label executives
With corporate cards trickin my
Budget on coochie
Video chicks sucking dick between takes
Hoping to get saved
And thanks for the ass shake
Like Dave Chappelle in "Half Baked
" need a backyotomy
And some of these thugs is into sodomy
Large print giveth, fine print taketh away
Your favorite rapper ain't recoup
Label take it away
Have a nigga tempted to take an AK
Goin postal
Rap made me loco, hustle bicoastal
(Why?) Because the West monopolize
Same ol' niggas tellin the same ol' lies
LA radio, quick to suck out of town dick
South support they own
Create international hit's
Out of regional records
East coast create the buzz
Music capitol of the world
Thought it wasn't when it was
And somehow manage to screw us
Call West coast gangster rap whack
Then sold it back to us