On DOING an EVIL DEED BLUES Songtext

von Lil Ugly Mane

You and I have some things to discuss!

...I'm at the table like the Godfather, smoking a dutch
I'mma let the world know what time it is
Life on earth is just a death sentence
One little thing just leads to the next thing...

I got some records, cut some samples, made 'em mine
I wrote some raps, I had a couple fire lines
I dropped a tape, I did a show, I got some shine
Never made a lot of money; that's fine
I got some records, cut some samples, made 'em mine
I wrote some raps, I had a couple fire lines
A couple labels asked me if I want to sign
But rapping ain't my grind, I just used to like to rhyme

Spitting Raekwon bars to the mirror just to hear if It sounded the same,
Dreams of insurmountable fame and valuable chains;
Spit so much I drowned before the drought ever came
And that's the shit that never leaves you
Every line you rhyme leads back to cats that teach you
It's see through, right around the time a playa's meat grew
Started making beats too
Never tried to please you
Numerous influences, but that was only clowning dog
The future of me pursuing it was nothing I was counting on
Seemed too far to go the distance, pitching from the mound I'm on
Pissed off, doubted on, thought the map was routed wrong
Persistence was a tag along, hit me like an atom bomb
So I give it up to those who let us have a job
All you rappers stacks is long cause Nina sang the saddest songs
Bristol sessions, Smif N' Wesson, why's half of the fabric gone?

Art is imitation, creation is forever
Innovation is spontaneous, never
A lot of rappers put the work in so you could be clever
Everything is everything is everything is everything, ever
The blues won't born in a bunker
Nothing can be born until you know how to hump her
Im still married to America, most you rappers dumped her
But you too blind Blake to see the spell they got you under

I used to like to rhyme when it was all about linguistics
When Big L verses was like decoding hieroglyphics
Back when my mission was still fillin' composition books
Working how I spit the and how my mic position look
Adolescent crook, lost up in the maze
Frankie Beverly, rapping in my book was a phase that weighed heavily
Rearranging bars and then they properly placed
Whole pages scribbled black from all the sloppy mistakes
Made a promise that I'd go and split the gwop with my ace
If I ever made a mill' for merely rocking a place
I used to like to rhyme when there was never any pressure
When your own bars were stone cold and beat you on a stretcher;
It wasn't business it was pleasure
I heard God through a boombox lampin' on my dresser
Hip-Hop, the most progressive music in the bunch
We hear tracks from '05 on a flashback lunch
Cause we move ahead every 30 seconds
So hows it been 40 years and all we fucking rap about is weapons?

Murdered upon the railroad and laid in a lonesome grave