Back To Basics Hip Hop's Alarm Clock

[Verse 1] Somebody asked me what exactly Ima do for black music I told em Ima chop it up, loop it and rap to it I'm a conscious slash average black human But see I'm from the street, so you know i gotta keep that ass movin I passed numerous tests without using a tech A crack movie, a school of hard knocks grad student that you should respect Not cause of my crucial connects, but cause I rap fluently Ask any dude in the west I put in work, like cats payin' dudes with a check Actin cool, but your just foolin' your set I'm a vet like Pat Ewing, and I blaze more Knicks than Reggie Miller You kids doing the same old shit and never differ But I beg to differ, fuck a pardon I'm charging the industry like a sergeant for pimpin' these artists Leave the talking to the grown-ups, regardless if your so what You sold out, trying to hold clout and hold bucks in the same hand [Verse 2] When I was young I once grew up like Ice Cube, and blew up like right [?] Times changed and so did the west Now I'm older now, I found me a nice crew, some tracks I could write to My mind grew and so did my set Now it's time to respect, them West Coast great vets Pouring blood, sweating tears, plus the years they invest Ya'll showing disrespect like you ain't heard us My story grounds in Cali, bound and I ain't been served once Kickup my feet ann burn blunts, bumping Snoop in the coupe Reminiscing of the time when I was stuck in my youth Moving house to house, in and out of cities, pretty kid and I was witty city slicking, steal some Diddy shit I miss when we used to play Wu-Tang, in the whoop bang capital Where niggas grow up with that shooting range attitude Gang banging and doing things that they ain't have to do But I was just a little man, looking out my window pane Chilling with the rapping crews, after school getting brain Spitting flames Attackin fools Actin cool Tagging on the bus Talking bout I never do it for the bucks, but fuck That all changed once my first check came you know [Verse 3] Yo, record labels used to ask me Ey yo how we supposed to market an artist that raps conscious and street comin' from Cali I told them rap music used to speak for itself Just put it out, niggas feel the heat comin' off the shelf without sellin out This is for my niggas out spitting, skipping house to house Living on they best friend's couch We out busting just to build up some clout But the rap game is stuck in a drought Cause these rappers stopped rapping, they just running they mouth Bout shit they don't have, while the shit in my pad is hot as the sun in the south I'm giving all that I have, for a little recognition For the times I spent scribbling my thoughts across pages For the latest, greatest, those who never made it And every guy that got me on they iTunes playlist For the Bridgetown playas The fly chicks that played us Divine forces wake up showing Friday night flavas This is for y'all