Behind the Musick - Ras Kass

I spit for the cabbage, grind with a mission

And put Capitol Records in missionary positions

Used to love H.E.R.

like Common, but then you get signed

(Behind the Music) now I just fuck the music from behind

They wanna know how it feels, locked on penitentiary tiers

Shit, I was locked down on Priority for eight years

At least I got good time, half time in

Now it’s halftime, I’m kicking ether like Nasir

Not here to be liked, came to redefine control of a mic

Y’all still stoning prophets in spite

Not phased with my spot in the light, let you tell it

Ras bitter and jealous, no I’m just better a spitter

They try to paint my LP’s as mistakes, tell me

How you judge the greatest by how many records are sold

I’ve got no regrets for the records I make

How can I disown my own soul?

This childhood hobby, adult hustle

Don’t respect the God, mother made you motherfuck you

My gospel pull video of the year, presented to you

I’m stuck in a contract, no medical or dental boo

I’m miserable, y’all niggas think it’s all gravy?

Stunt 'til they pay me, and I don’t give a fuck

If I sold one or one million, but I see you do

Only good as your last record, bad first week you’re through

Music is a business and the business of business is to make money

Creativity, they take from me

I never flopped, I just stayed hip-hop

When y’all hijacked rap music, crashed into pop

Watch dudes go plat', and overnight hot

Then every clown run to use the same producer he got

And now your song ain’t a hit if so-and-so ain’t make the beat

Same dickriders used to say that nigga’s beats weak

Just Blaze said it best — collabo’s happen now

For strategy and marketing, niggas only doing features

If your SoundScan sparkling

No more magic, pullin my leg like Go Go Gadget

One minute they hate you, next minute they love you

Next minute it’s fuck you, then they forget you

You can play the coon, clown around this year

Trust me, you won’t be around next year

One minute they hate you, next minute they love you

Next minute it’s fuck you, then they forget you

Think I’ve figured out this hip-hop shit

Hypocrites put you on a pedestal, just to kick you down that bitch

I’m still a rap fan, microphone fiend

An insider like Russell Crowe, behind the scenes

You can be the hottest MC, literally leave the mic smoking

No marketing and promotion

No 106 & Park, no TRL

Don’t kill the messenger homey but don’t expect to sell

Viacom own MTV, VH1

BET, five labels until BMG

Merged with Sony, EMI, Universal and WEA

Only four labels in the music industry bruh

All radio controlled by two companies

Just two rap magazines, read between the lines

Hip-hop used to be the expression of struggle with rhymes

Corporate monopolized, only certain shit shines

Only way to get radio and video and blow

They control what you say, and the images you show

CNN owned by AOL, own Time Warner

Trickle down effect of the New World Order

And you wonder why «Van Gogh» was killed

Same reason Dead Prez lost they deal, get real

I spit for the cabbage, grind with a mission

And put Capitol Records in missionary positions

Used to love H.E.R.

like Common, but then you get signed

(Behind the Music) now I just fuck the music from behind

Magazine writers misprint you, take words out of context

And got the nerve to wonder why I’m vexed

When I read the publication

I was like «Damn, was we in the same conversation?»

This for the rap conniseurs, magazine critics

Backpackers, rap stars with bullshit gimmicks

Fans, even the «Stans,» the groupies and label executives

With corporate cards trickin my budget on coochie

Video chicks sucking dick between takes

Hoping to get saved, and thanks for the ass shake

Like Dave Chappelle in «Half Baked,» need a backyotomy

And some of these thugs is into sodomy

Large print giveth, fine print taketh away

Your favorite rapper ain’t recoup label take it away

Have a nigga tempted to take an AK, goin postal

Rap made me loco, hustle bicoastal

(Why?) Because the West monopolize

Same ol' niggas tellin the same ol' lies

L.A. radio, quick to suck out of town dick

South support they own create international hits

Out of regional records, East coast create the buzz

Music capitol of the world, thought it wasn’t when it was

And somehow manage to screw us

Call West coast gangster rap whack, then sold it back to us…