Money Chasers

(Verse 1: Chronic) See you ain't enforcing the laws you ignoring the warnings Corrupting the core of rap you fucking money hoarding extorters Deserving nothing but for me to be down the block on the corner In a corvette honking the horn at four in the morning Or leave gasoline poured on your lawn and then torch it And while you assholes scream for a faucet or water ignore it Throw my tape at you cause you ain't bought it straight at your head Break your neck break your nose without breaking a sweat? While your crew forsake you for dead, they'll even leave you bleeding On the street, lungs weakened with the strength to breathe receding And all because you blu-tacced a poster of 2Pac In a du rag with a newsflash reading guess who's back Styles are bitten, most writtens are ghost written -Dead rappers look down thinking y'all tripping -Take a listen, something something Cognac sipping Dick licking, lipstick-ing, bitch hitting, wrist slitting -The nicest is bout if what you buy got long prices But it makes hip hop cost nine cents from the off license There's kids that need guidance, but all they get is blindness -And all you get is a headache when mom finds it And sees some fuckery and gets them cross eyelids- Hip hop-itis in your minds making you rock diamonds Follow the trends, you ain't sell if you're not stylish Ain't that what you want? to make the mob buy shit? I'm here to save you all, let me call up my hot sidekick Don't care if she's not psychic, she just has to want my dick It's rap-man, na-na-na-na here to save the day Make way I ain't got a theme tune I got a whole tape to play (Chorus) -This is for your own benefit Rappers have forgotten bout delivering they messages -Try'na switch it up for gold necklaces Telling you anything making sure that they selling shit (Verse 2: Chronic) Money chasers, running after they papers Tasteless styles and give it a couple years they'll be traceless I'm anxious, why do you feel the need to disgrace us? And if we call you out on it suddenly we are haters? Here's what your fate is, two years on billboard Then they get bored of you and here's your reward Either someone sues you or you ending up in prison But it makes no fucking difference cause nobody wants to hear them And by this time you very quickly been replaced By another ignoramus that they know won't innovate You was selling millions, now you living by the interstate And I bet you that chain around your neck that that is your fate Cause you been a fake, you hear my freestyling And it got you running twenty blocks like a police siren -Go see if the DMV's hiring Imagine going from mad stacks to stacking up recycling You going pale what's the matter with you drake? If that is your real name, can't you handle all the hate? Cause I'm calling y'all out on your mistake You fucking faggot feeding off other people like Dracula but gay -Man, so many ghostwriters you'd be better off Living in a haunted house, rattling a chain You want to diss me back, who's the rapper you gon' pay? On the real, was that really you on Degrassi or a fake? (Bridge) -Funny how it works out in the end of it Meek Mill fucked you much worse than Nicki ever did -But your fans ain't even gonna sweat it, they'll just say forget it Don't worry about it, it's irrelevant (Chorus 2x) -This is for your own benefit Rappers have forgotten bout delivering they messages -Tryna switch it up for gold necklaces Telling you anything making sure that they selling shit Meek Mill using Twitter and shit...