Do You Believe In Life After Thugs?

[Verse 1] None of our father’s ever followed orders Just clever Rebels sin causes Cruising in Continentals and Monte Carlos They autotune the artist Turning all the hardest to the harnessed Shots in the air to Cher Thanks for what you taught us Color me Canseco The A-hole you love to hate, dude Burning all these BALCO bitches And bearing the Bonds of they truth I just follow what the fuck my father just taught us Best be honest Or kid, your keester will catch a palm I fucking promise Spawned from the stock that’s strongest You can doubt me Thomas Fell in love with gangster rap Like every other cracker on it Bite a bit from Big L Fuck it, that’s what Jay-Z wanted Bloggers will go Britney for Lady Gaga Mashed up with Nirvana But we heart this You can see it on the twitter feed Everybody following the same path like centipede feet So what the fuck that means? I don’t fucking know But I traded in your indie friends and returned for the radio The lazy flow Patented by money grubbing Murda Ma$e Turned crazy slow Once the nation tasted Texas’ purple tapes And then they go mimicking the Midwest Rhymefest coached Kanye Now everybody needs love Like Mr. Smith comma James I’m as guilty as the next pair of fucking skinny jeans Gave up on the indie rap Just to hear some pretty things Y’all ain’t never sold out Y’all just wrote boring songs Promised on my first shit I wanna write some sing-a-longs Yup! So, sing a long to this bitch While I spit my nerdy verses Over top of the hits I love the gangsters with guns But that ain’t what I am Here’s a little tip of the cap To the cap-peeling kids Here’s a little bit of a dap To fist-bumping terrorists You can hate the shape of my tracks Or diss the way I spit But hey This is exactly who I am An indie artsy fuck Who raps better than your friends [Verse 2] I came in the game And y’all mocked the way my pants fit Then traded your cargos in for skinny jeans Damn quick Face it, fat ass You’re waist is way too wide for 510s, prick Plus the knees are full of holes From slobbering Sage Francis We hated rappers that were all up on some gang shit Now we all ignore the “artists” So we can watch Wayne spit Cause innovators are famous And Cage is busy Blowing Xaneys backstage bitch A hypocrite up in the house now Jacked a beat to speak a piece About how unique my art sounds I know, y’all The irony will never wash off Grown ass man, buddy I ain’t scared of truth, dog Spit it this way To speak it in your language, fam Cause rappers miss the subtle stuff Like reading braille with bandaged hands Set your targets, homies If you want to diss back But if you diss You just admit that everything I spit is fact I used to fucking love rap But now the music’s boring Any dummy with money can make puns Make new recordings If this song makes you mad Then that should just raise questions Guilty consciences is what makes you assholes aggressive Baby, it’s a farce The indie artsy fable Warner owns us all Google ADA Label But this is not a diss song This is an op-ed piece Prove my valid points wrong And I’ll eat my fucking bed sheets