There's a little boy that's too young to ravenOne day he goes through his big bro's tapesnWhat? I think this is called hip hopnWhen he puts it on, the shouting and arguing stopsnPause, rewind, he'll learn the words offnBy heart 'til I start to scribble down and jotnnWhat's on his mind?nWrite his own rhymesnDo it over, 2 step, drum 'n bass, and grimennHost his own jungle nights and learn hypenFriends, bedroom studios get tightnHe likes the limelight, saying what he likesnAnd spraying on the micnHe's on pirate tonightnnNow he wrote a songnJust 'cause he like nJust what's on his mindnHe thinks you might likenReckon he should put it online?nAlrightnNobody will listen but never know they mightnDoesn't matter anyway, he don't really carenMusic's his blood and his sweat and his tearsnnNah, now you'll never guessnBut look how many plays he got today, yes!nTop of the blogs, he got them impressednHeat like a hot rush, a blood to the headnnNah, Mum, look at him nownSee, it's not a waste of time, aren't you proud?nThere's no money, at least for nownBut he's reaching people and they hear him loudnnNah, he got fans, don't lienUnread messages, double overnightnThanks for the love, yeah, I'm glad you likenKeep in touch, pass it on, how very nicennNah, as the DJ's wheelnCool little labels offering him dealsnCool little raves all hot up on his heelsnHe's heating up, he likes how it feelsnnBut so what now, he sees the game is fiddlenThere's hundred other piggies wanna sip from the nipplenHear the whippersnappers coming like the click of a pistolnAnd now he can't even slack or slow downnNo, not even a littlenEverybody wanna get a cut of the lootnProducers, agents, or even his crewnAnd he's still independent, still gotta donAll the promo admin and tax returns, toonnRahnSo what if I got the underground locked?nDesktop is full of emails, he can't put his feet upnGot beefnFrom his gal and his fam' 'cause they never meet upnThis heatnnMoves like a beast and he gotta keep it upnnChill out, take a deep breathnWhat's the point of chasing achievements?nDo it for the love or just leave itnIt's not about the money you bleed thisnnDo it for the kidnWho wants to feel strongnWith his eyes screwed shutnAnd his headphones onnnDo it for headsnAll at the ravenSweating awaynLike you back in the daynnDo it for fansnOn and forums and blogsnForget competition, ignore what they're onnnThere's money you're owednAnd some you owenBut never sell out and you'll be a heronnBut people are telling him it's not enoughnYou gotta cross over, gotta move upnnHe sees that others are blowing it upnWants to make something that everyone lovesnn'Cause nHe wanna plays concerts, not clubsnHe wants a hotel with a hot tubnSo-called heads wanna show real lovenThen they wouldn't download for free so get stuffednnHe wants songs in ads and in pubsnHe wants wong from sponsors and chartsnnHe wanna reach everybodynEveryone wanna piece of him, anywaynHe'll make the piece largennYeah, major label he signsnMake me a star,nI'm sick of the grindnI'll play the part, take the weight off my mindnIce up the cake and we'll all have a slicennYeah, who's crossing over, switchnThey only hate because he's getting richnWanna get money then target the kidsnHalf of it's singles and half of it's shitnnYeah, I'm playing televisionnCashing it in and they flashing the skinnThey wanna swing on his platinum tingnEh, oh, he's banging telly bitchesnnYeah, 'nuff fans stopping fans, Hey!nFirst time he had a chat with the braynSecond one just shook his head and said safenNow he just blanks 'em like Move out my way!nnHe started off wanting to make what he lovesnThen it becamenAll about chasing statusnAnd it's a painnSo now he just tries to make what they wantnWho can saynIf it's right or wrongnI guess the game's fucked