Kool Keith - Plastic World lyrics

"yeah, Kool Keith should keep it real
He should (en't) rap about space and Mars"

Yo, I'm tired of looking
At everybody same boots, skully hats in
90 degree weather
Looking to get into clubs for free i'm not
Smoking blunts
Or looking for jazz records at the Roosevelt

I left New York
The city it'self was stress depression
High boots and urban beats
That wasn't my direction
Producers filtering join in with R&B
A million rappers
Some clones trying to sound like me
Biting my space styles, biting my horror-core
All I saw was little Kool Keiths, on my tour
Record companies, I G'd-off all my royalties
Watching vinyl spin, local groups' wack MC's
Some try to rap with
That perpetrate mobster crap
Karl Kani jeans
Fat stomachs in the limosines
Mixtapes by wack DJ's, as doo doo play
I'm on the turnpike
The city drifting down the highway
Like a mirage
The style there is all illusion
On videos out of town, peoples spot confusion
Rolling high with caps pulled
Over down my eye
Since I been out, y'all can't see
Is the world made of plastic?
Is the city buried in dreams? (yeah)
Is the world made of plastic?
Cause that's the way is seems (Owww)

Watching TV so bored
While imbiciles hold the mic cord
Graffiti playgrounds are played out
Yo how'd that sound? Army fatigues are weak
Is for the minor leagues
No rapping cyphers or brothers
In the rented Benz crews on stage
Acting hard with a thousand friends
I saw the place turn plastic
Crack heads looping beats
People with no deals
Walkmens rappin on the streets
I turned my back
90% of the city sounded wack
Payola scams switch DJ's like a rubber band
Everybody clear with beats trying
To be Premier clearing your samples
Your SP-12 fake examples
My money grosses with green from my own label
While you act rich with no
Cash on the bigger label
Your tri-state ways are shut
Down by barricades
In fact I pack my bags, and listened to E-40
Mac Mall, C-Bo
And other rappers you don't know
You're narrow-minded in styles of mine
You won't find it
My sound proceeds with Moog
And undertone bass
No comic gimmicks with beats
Rapping in my face
I come back real, solid rock razor steel
Tappin your program
Show the world I'm the man
You copy Poppa Large, the industry is robbed

As I do see soda, wack
Rugged beer commercials
Some rappers are bought and puppeteered
Like the Ninja Turtles
From Manhattan I heat up
Yo light up Times Square
I make noise like open high
Hats on your cheap snare
No promotional shows, girls wear corn rows
People with hooded sweaters on crack
Keep me on my toes
I walk with straw hats and
Glasses in the projects
Bring my ghost image so tense
On the line of scrimmage playing my numbers
Waiting for the Five to come
Spaghetti out the window, people acting dumb
Fire hydrants wet the neighbors
Your family's nosy
I come and go as I please, on blockhead MC's
You bought sneakers, no car
Scrambling on the corner
I'm not the star you are
The city's fallen far
My mechanism, you're on my tip
Stay off my penis
You've duplicated me for years

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you are the one