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  • Текст песни Dead Prez - Hip Hop

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    Тут находится текст песни Dead Prez - Hip Hop, а также перевод, видео и клип.

    Fake, fake records

    Uh, uh, uh, 1, 2, 1, 2
    Uh, uh, 1, 2, 1, 2, uh, uh
    All my dogs

    It's bigger than hip hop, hip hop, hip hop, hip
    It's bigger than hip hop, hip hop, hip hop, hip hop

    Uh, one thing 'bout music
    When it hit you feel no pain
    White folks says it controls your brain
    I know better than that
    That's game and we ready for that
    Two soldiers head of the pack
    Matter of fact who got the gat?
    And where my army at?
    Rather attack than not react
    Back the beats it don't reflect
    On how many records get sold
    On sex, drugs, and rock and roll
    Whether your project's put on hold
    In the real world
    These just people with ideas
    They just like me and you
    When the smoke and camera disappear
    Again the real world (world)
    It's bigger than all these fake ass records
    When poor folks got the millions
    And my woman's disrespected
    If you check 1,2,
    My word of advice to you is just relax
    Just do what you got to do
    If that don't work then kick the facts
    If you a fighter, rider, lighter, flame ignitor, crowd exciter
    Or you wanna just get high
    Then just say it
    But then if you a liar-liar, pants on fire
    Wolf-cry agent with a wire
    I'm gon' know it when I play it

    It's bigger than hip hop, hip hop, hip hop, hip
    It's bigger than hip hop, hip hop, hip hop, hip hop

    Uh, who shot Biggie Smalls
    If we don't get them
    They gonna get us all
    I'm down for runnin' up on them
    Crackers in they city hall
    We ride for y'all
    All my dogs stay real
    Nigga don't think these record deals
    Gonna feed your seeds
    And pay your bills because they not
    MC's get a little bit of love and think they hot
    Talkin' 'bout how much money they got
    Nigga all y'all records sound the same
    I sick of that fake thug, R & B
    Rap scenario all day on the radio
    Same scenes in the video, monotonous material
    Y'all don't here me though
    These record labels slang our tapes like dope
    You can be next in line, and signed
    And still be writing rhymes and broke
    You would rather have a Lexus or justice
    A dream or some substance
    A Beamer, a necklace or freedom
    Still a nigga like me don't playa' hate
    I just stay awake
    This real hip-hop, and it don't stop
    'Til we get the po-po off the block
    They call it

    Hip hop, hip hop, hip hop, hip
    It's bigger than hip hop, hip hop, hip hop, hip
    It's bigger than hip hop, hip hop, hip hop, hip
    It's bigger than hip hop, hip hop, hip hop

    DP's got that crazy shit we keep it crunk up
    John Blaze'd and shit what

    Uh, DP's got that crazy shit we keep it crunk up
    John Blaze'd and shit

    Uh, DP's got that crazy shit we keep it crunk up
    John Blaze'd and shit

    1, 2, 1, 2

    Uh, DP's got that crazy shit we keep it crunk up
    John Blaze'd and shit

    Uh, DP's got that crazy shit we keep it crunk up

    They call it

    Fake, fake, fake records

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