100 Bars for SFR

[Verse 1] 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 [Verse 2] 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 suits 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! [Bridge] 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! [Verse 3] 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! [Verse 4] 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?