[Masta Ace]
Boom!
Am I dead yet?
I don't think so
Masta Ace in the place
[Verse 1: Masta Ace]
Oh, what a night, yo, that I've just been through
I barely made it home from this hip-hop venue
These two guys, no three guys, no four, no, this posse
Try to fake a move and bumrush me like a Nazi
Underground club where the kids smell like odors
I almost got an avalanche dropped on my shoulders
'Cause I writes the fat raps and kids memorize 'em
I tries, um, this new style and, boy, did I surprise 'em
They said "Yo, that's too hype. Yo, who's he think he is?
He's supposed to be commercial like that song about the Biz"
The kid said "Masta Ace, yo, what's the deal wit' the switchin'?"
He's bitchin', didn't like the rap I was pitchin'
You see, he was a rapper wit' a single about to drop
His record label told him that he had to make it pop
Take it from me, Jack, you're sadly mistaken
A lot of record labels been tryin' to get the bacon
By makin' a brother into somethin' he is not and
You're better of a dammer on a farm pickin' cotton
They mold ya and shape ya, they bend and they twist ya
They get paid like quick fast, and that's when they diss ya
So homeboy, you're better off comin' from the heart
And lettin' the kids put your record on the chart
You must use your head and forget what they said
'Cause in about a year, you'll be like "Wake me when I'm dead"
Boom!
Am I dead yet?
I don't think so
Masta Ace in the place
[Verse 1: Masta Ace]
Oh, what a night, yo, that I've just been through
I barely made it home from this hip-hop venue
These two guys, no three guys, no four, no, this posse
Try to fake a move and bumrush me like a Nazi
Underground club where the kids smell like odors
I almost got an avalanche dropped on my shoulders
'Cause I writes the fat raps and kids memorize 'em
I tries, um, this new style and, boy, did I surprise 'em
They said "Yo, that's too hype. Yo, who's he think he is?
He's supposed to be commercial like that song about the Biz"
The kid said "Masta Ace, yo, what's the deal wit' the switchin'?"
He's bitchin', didn't like the rap I was pitchin'
You see, he was a rapper wit' a single about to drop
His record label told him that he had to make it pop
Take it from me, Jack, you're sadly mistaken
A lot of record labels been tryin' to get the bacon
By makin' a brother into somethin' he is not and
You're better of a dammer on a farm pickin' cotton
They mold ya and shape ya, they bend and they twist ya
They get paid like quick fast, and that's when they diss ya
So homeboy, you're better off comin' from the heart
And lettin' the kids put your record on the chart
You must use your head and forget what they said
'Cause in about a year, you'll be like "Wake me when I'm dead"
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