Do You Believe In Life After Thugs?

[Verse 1]
None of our fathers ever followed orders
Just clever Rebels sin causes
Cruising in Continentals and Monte Carlos
They autotune the artist
Turning all the hardest to the harnessed
Shots in the air to Cher
Thanks for what you taught us
Color me Canseco
The A-hole you love to hate, dude
Burning all these BALCO bitches
And bearing the Bonds of they truth
I just follow what the fuck my father just taught us
Best be honest
Or kid, your keester will catch a palm
I fucking promise
Spawned from the stock that’s strongest
You can doubt me Thomas
Fell in love with gangster rap
Like every other cracker on it
Bite a bit from Big L
Fuck it, that’s what Jay-Z wanted
Bloggers will go Britney for Lady Gaga
Mashed up with Nirvana
But we heart this
You can see it on the twitter feed
Everybody following the same path like centipede feet
So what the fuck that means?
I don’t fucking know
But I traded in your indie friends and returned for the radio
The lazy flow
Patented by money grubbing Murda Ma$e
Turned crazy slow
Once the nation tasted Texas’ purple tapes
And then they go mimicking the Midwest
Rhymefest coached Kanye
Now everybody needs love
Like Mr. Smith comma James
I’m as guilty as the next pair of fucking skinny jeans
Gave up on the indie rap
Just to hear some pretty things
Y’all ain’t never sold out
Y’all just wrote boring songs
Promised on my first shit
I wanna write some sing-a-longs
Yup! So, sing a long to this bitch
While I spit my nerdy verses
Over top of the hits
I love the gangsters with guns
But that ain’t what I am
Here’s a little tip of the cap
To the cap-peeling kids
Here’s a little bit of a dap
To fist-bumping terrorists
You can hate the shape of my tracks
Or diss the way I spit
But hey
This is exactly who I am
An indie artsy fuck
Who raps better than your friends

[Verse 2]
I came in the game
And y’all mocked the way my pants fit
Then traded your cargos in for skinny jeans
Damn quick
Face it, fat ass
You’re waist is way too wide for 510s, prick
Plus the knees are full of holes
From slobbering Sage Francis
We hated rappers that were all up on some gang shit
Now we all ignore the “artists”
So we can watch Wayne spit
Cause innovators are famous
And Cage is busy
Blowing Xaneys backstage bitch
A hypocrite up in the house now
Jacked a beat to speak a piece
About how unique my art sounds
I know, y’all
The irony will never wash off
Grown ass man, buddy
I ain’t scared of truth, dog
Spit it this way
To speak it in your language, fam
Cause rappers miss the subtle stuff
Like reading braille with bandaged hands
Set your targets, homies
If you want to diss back
But if you diss
You just admit that everything I spit is fact
I used to fucking love rap
But now the music’s boring
Any dummy with money can make puns
Make new recordings
If this song makes you mad
Then that should just raise questions
Guilty consciences is what makes you assholes aggressive
Baby, it’s a farce
The indie artsy fable
Warner owns us all
Google ADA Label
But this is not a diss song
This is an op-ed piece
Prove my valid points wrong
And I’ll eat my fucking bed sheets