Behind the Musick

[Verse 1] I spit for the cabbage, grind with a mission And put Capitol Records in missionary positions Used to love H.E.R. like Common, but then you get signed (Behind the Music) now I just fuck the music from behind They wanna know how it feels, locked on penitentiary tiers Shit, I was locked down on Priority for eight years At least I got good time, half time in Now it's halftime, I'm kicking ether like Nasir Not here to be liked, came to redefine control of a mic Y'all still stoning prophets in spite Not phased with my spot in the light, let you tell it Ras bitter and jealous, no I'm just better a spitter They try to paint my LP's as mistakes, tell me How you judge the greatest by how many records are sold I've got no regrets for the records I make How can I disown my own soul? This childhood hobby, adult hustle Don't respect the God, mother made you motherfuck you My {?} gospel pull video of the year, presented to you I'm stuck in a contract, no medical or dental boo I'm miserable, y'all niggas think it's all gravy? Stunt 'til they pay me, and I don't give a fuck If I sold one or one million, but I see you do Only good as your last record, bad first week you're through Music is a business and the business of business is to make money Creativity, they take from me I never flopped, I just stayed hip-hop When y'all hijacked rap music, crashed into pop Watch dudes go plat', and overnight hot Then every clown run to use the same producer he got And now your song ain't a hit if so-and-so ain't make the beat Same dickriders used to say that nigga's beats weak Just Blaze said it best - collabo's happen now For strategy and marketing, niggas only doing features If your SoundScan sparkling No more magic, pullin my leg like Go Go Gadget [Hook] One minute they hate you, next minute they love you Next minute it's fuck you, then they forget you You can play the coon, clown around this year Trust me, you won't be around next year One minute they hate you, next minute they love you Next minute it's fuck you, then they forget you Think I've figured out this hip-hop shit Hypocrites put you on a pedestal, just to kick you down that bitch [Verse 2] I'm still a rap fan, microphone fiend An insider like Russell Crowe, behind the scenes You can be the hottest MC, literally leave the mic smoking No marketing and promotion No 106 & Park, no TRL Don't kill the messenger homey but don't expect to sell Viacom own MTV, VH1 BET, five labels until BMG Merged with Sony, EMI, Universal and WEA Only four labels in the music industry bruh All radio controlled by two companies Just two rap magazines, read between the lines Hip-hop used to be the expression of struggle with rhymes Corporate monopolized, only certain shit shines Only way to get radio and video and blow They control what you say, and the images you show CNN owned by AOL, own Time Warner Trickle down effect of the New World Order And you wonder why "Van Gogh" was killed Same reason Dead Prez lost they deal, get real I spit for the cabbage, grind with a mission And put Capitol Records in missionary positions Used to love H.E.R. like Common, but then you get signed (Behind the Music) now I just fuck the music from behind [Hook] [Verse 3] Magazine writers misprint you, take words out of context And got the nerve to wonder why I'm vexed When I read the publication I was like "Damn, was we in the same conversation?" This for the rap conniseurs, magazine critics Backpackers, rap stars with bullshit gimmicks Fans, even the "Stans," the groupies and label executives With corporate cards trickin my budget on coochie Video chicks sucking dick between takes Hoping to get saved, and thanks for the ass shake Like Dave Chappelle in "Half Baked," need a backyotomy And some of these thugs is into sodomy Large print giveth, fine print taketh away Your favorite rapper ain't recoup label take it away Have a nigga tempted to take an AK, goin postal Rap made me loco, hustle bicoastal (Why?) Because the West monopolize Same ol' niggas tellin the same ol' lies L.A. radio, quick to suck out of town dick South support they own create international hits Out of regional records, East coast create the buzz Music capitol of the world, thought it wasn't when it was And somehow manage to screw us Call West coast gangster rap whack, then sold it back to us...