Clueless (Fuck Clue)

* soon to be on Hostile Takeover "We here to talk about that nigga DJ Clue, so you know..." "You ain't nothin, all you do is spin records, that's all you do Who he think he is? DJ Quik? Huh? Kid Capri?" [Verse One] I open up Blaze and see these bums all dissin' me Ernesto don't have a Clue like Unsolved Mysteries When my album drops I'll be runnin' y'all industry See me in person bet I get respect from y'all instantly Fuck y'all sympathy - I call your bluff like card-playing Now you on the phone with those other faggot A&R's sayin' "My bad, yo! I ain't know how butta he could be" Next month you like ("New exclusive shit! Jugga The Bully!!!") Got folk askin' me "Why you got beef with Clue? That dude got friends..." That's cool, I got people too What I'm supposed to do? He gave me a wack write up Misrepresentin' mine knowin' that it's phat like butts This nigga couldn't scratch a record in a cat fight plus Your album sucks - wishin' you could rap like Touch You just juggle some nuts to get a few exclusives And thought no one could tell you wack, what the fuck is you stupid? I question your skills, trashin' every mag that got you in it And I swear never heard nothin' hot you blended On my block you finished - I'm ambitious and vicious And you gonna fall cuz real Hip Hoppers can't stand bitches Chorus: You don't have a Clue When you disrespect the Dirty South this how we do Got everyone from here to overseas dissin' too You don't get no respect here so, Fuuuuuuck Clue!! [Verse Two] I heard Clue's hatin' - ya words in Blaze is circulatin' You ain't all that - niggas got you gased like service stations In addition, your tapes got too much reverberation You fucked up and brought an ATLien Earth invasion What, you didn't understand the story? "First Contact's" a metaphor about weed, nigga - it's self explanitory Guess you ain't get it - that's what I expect though Fuck ya mix tape - you ain't special, Ms. Ernesto With all that echo - tapes headed straight for trash cans I seen you live - you couldn't mix if your name was Tascam Screamin' on all ya tapes to cover up all the mistakes That's why you never in DJ battles - you'd prolly get raped Put the plates on - what the FUCK you waitin' on? Got ya head spinnin' like those twelve hundreds you fakin' on Puff made you, then that nigga Jigga saved you Interscope paid you - now Jugga the Bully just played you I got no beef with artists gettin' run on ya tapes But if they retaliate - then they, too, gettin' punched in the face I heard you spin CD's anyway - what's that shit? Lately your tapes ain't been bangin' - it's just wack shit So fuck you - I won't even mention those other A&R's Tryin' to clone stars so broke they can't even afford cars I'm going far regardless - catchin' wreck over beats You just mad cause ya ass don't get no respect on the streets Yeah...I expected to see that lump that's in ya throat... I give ya A&R job two to three months at Interscope My shit is dope - kill that noise and try me You the only deejay couldn't scratch if the wax had poison ivy Chorus [Verse Three] I guess you must've felt threatened by mine Either that or you too dumb to understand what I said in my rhyme The song was complex, Clue didn't comprehend the context While everyone who does is sweatin', complementin' concepts You got yours, why you hatin' on mine? And I know you got back so fuck the gats this rap is breakin' ya spine I'm glad you dissed me - and I still got love for New York City But this nigga's soft like titties - DJ Clue's a sissy Similar to some of the emcees on that wack shit he play Fuck the gay rapper - Clue's the faggot deejay Dis The Bully? You nuts like the condoms I skeet in You wouldn't know original livin' in the Garden of Eden So pardon the beefin' but I got issues with dude Not only are your tapes Common, but the bitch is in you That's why my real niggas no longer listen to you The President or The Professional? Which is it, Clue? It ain't President cause you got no campaign funds If it won't for Jay-Z, where would you get your champagne from? It ain't Professional cause your whole steez is amateur night You wanted action? Well, you got it like camera lights Don't reply - not even Teamsters can manage to strike Got the soundman pissed cause I damaged the mic It's like this: Recognize nigga get ya shit straight And I might STILL supply exclusives for ya WEAK mix-tapes.... Chorus Outro: Big head nigga, fuck you, I'll break your fuckin' fingers How 'bout that? Know what I'm sayin'? Scratch you with your own needle Plus nail your turntables down on your knuckles Don't even matter, talkin' about JUGGA the BULLY Talkin' 'bout my shit's wack, you didn't even listen to the shit If you did, you woulda known what the shit was about Wouldn't a said that bullshit, know what I'm sayin? Atlantis UnderWorld, save that clone rap shit Y'all niggas suck dick for, it's that real shit I'm tellin' you right now, man, don't even play that bullshit Motherfucker diss me, talkin' about I'm wack? That shit y'all heard was just wack, what the fuck?!? Ignorant ass motherfuckers, man I'ma show y'all motherfuckers how to do shit in the new millenium Continuum, baby, DJ Kno rocked this fuckin track for y'all motherfuckers This what y'all motherfuckers wanted to hear? You bitch ass nigga, it's the same fuckin' shit But this time it's directed at your bitch ass... Word up