[Kevlaar 7]You've been at it for years, paper pads, ink pensStudio time in tears, not to mention the bloodSending prayers above, the hard times you enduredThrough the hip-hop crack, you love opening major artist showsNot looked at us one of the pros, you still got us groundsBeing featured on Lyricist Lounge, stretch growth, your head poundsNiggas by your house licking roundsPraying you'll get the luck to escape the higher ground'Cause you're growing, and the people is liking your soundThey think you're a new star found, you got the Unsigned HypeNiggas try to bite but they don't know with a couple of more showsWe'll see how the ticket sales growYour time is coming, you're eager to sign to a labelAny one would do, as long they're paying youAnd the box is playing youYou thinking you're blowing upBut your money, this small time company is fucking upI want my money, where's my check? (Next week)That's what you said last week and the week before that, see(To this I don't anyone would pay you)Dude fuck this label, I'm jacking you and give me the safe toI should shoot you in the temple but I just bust you in the leg dukePOP!, attempted murder, eating soy bean burgers and lifting weightsThree years, May 27th, your release dateI'm gon' get off on a new foot, job ap, and believe in musicGo home and write lyrics, my write hand I abuse itY'all took my pride and bruised it, crooked record company fable'sBe smart with my heart and chose some much more respectable labelCareful, don't let the conniver label bullet graze you[Bronze Nazareth]I never knew that this life would be so hardMusic fuse width from the contention of vocal cordsI hope to define morals with this weapon stronger than the swordBut my knees I've bruised for praying to the Lord for a re-causeSomehow my piece of mind turned to your piece of mindWanted first of the month just from Hype UnsignedBut shit is hectic, my wrist laggered off from writing the messageFive mics my innerceptic, but I'm my own skepticYou're paying me to pay you back after laying my intelligence on waxWhen it's this level I strive to perform thatMAN FUCK THAT!, I guess I just gotta go independentSince you're talking this bullshit while you're pushing me back 'til DecemberAnd I'm the most venomous lyricist you could rememberHad a five star album done in one fucking weekGot your manager and CEOs kissing my ass cheekBut now the outlook is bleak, bitch ass turned to a new leafGot a nigga who could make bitches dance instead of spitting verbal heatWHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? Thought we was down niggas with rap?Now I'm burning on the back 'cause you wife wants a singing contractShe'll blast you, clack-clack, hold on, let me put this hammer backYou are not worth, never reaching my objectJust gimme my last check and I'll leave with my respectAnd I might not blow up 'cause the parties my tracts won't show upBut I'm content with lyrics that keep minds from corruptWhat? What? What? *echo*