40 Acres And My Props - Showbiz, A.G.

Showbiz got props, tell me who got the props

A.G. got props, tell me who got the props

Give me my props for '92

It’s me and Showbiz and this is what we gonna do

Give you some for now, save some for later

Here’s a portion, a-yo Show, kick the flavor

Record labels try to juice me

(For what?) For my papers

They offer me a mule

(And what else?) And 40 acres

I’m dissing snakes now, there’s no time to catch the vapors

And I’m not a pup (for what?) a Muppet caper

And all the ghetto groupies get free with the quickness

And Show concentrate and only think about business

I hate a sell-out because he put me in a rage

I play KRS and throw that ass off the stage

So give me my props because I always think clever

And ain’t nothing changed but the weather

(Get your act together) cause I got mines together

And please don’t front on the brother with the Pelle Pelle leather

I’m Show B-I-Z, my partner is A. G

Chill with Greg N-I-C-E or my brother D-R-E-S

And what’s up to Lord Finesse

And I’d like to give shouts to my peeps Shorty and Wes

People say I’m soup, crazy cash I recoup

Nowadays I just troop in my green Legend coupe

Record companies try to juice me for my papers

They offer me a mule and about 40 acres

They tried to game me for my royalties

Pushed me towards the dotted line but you know I didn’t sign

Labels know straight up when we meet

Interfere with my career then it’s back to the streets

Bang bang on the pow pow

I settled the beef the best way I know how

Police are savage beasts if I’m not taking care

Rap is my career and it’s my only way outta here

Every chance I do damage

And I manage to use all the anger to my advantage

All that is cool, but the brain is the tool

Gimme my props so we all can rule

Don’t show all my skills, I just sprinkle em

And now you’re sleeping on my props, wake up before you wrinkle them

Gimme my props yo, more than a cop yo

Til I master Hip Hop, I won’t stop yo (Repeat 4x)

(Gimme my props, I want mine)

(Gimme my props, I’m getting mine) (Repeat 2x)

They say BMW’s a Black Man Wish

I wish for an SP-1200 and some discs

(Negativity release), material will cease

Saying peace to the brothers in the belly of the beast

People saying «Why Show wanna rhyme?»

I didn’t wanna get bagged and do Fed time

I wanna live right and exact, I don’t wanna be the fat cat

Off the crack and have the Feds down my back

If the money’s stacked, take a step back, black

Or you’ll be wearing football numbers like a quarterback

I was raised one deep by mom dukes and no dad

And now I grab a #2 pencil and a pad

Or Erasermate if I make mistakes I erase

And me and Diamond go digging in the crates

(Where's my 40 acres?) Not the projects of course

I asked for a mule, I got a iron horse

Shit goes on as the song plays

(Can a devil fool a Muslim?)

Nah, not nowadays

On your mark, get set, pass the 40, let’s jet

A fat rhyme is what you want, a fat rhyme is what you’ll get

It’s thorough, from beginning to end

The beat is fat, what could I say?

Show you did it again

I got the hat on my head, Pepe’s on my behind

Fans on my back, and money on my mind

I don’t sweat the stress, take the bitter with the sweet

Did I let you know I have the Tims on my feet?

You knew my stats when I came around

Saying «Damn he’s living fat» when I haven’t even gained a pound

Friends til the end, never will I diss ya

My peoples R.I.P., you know I’m gonna miss ya

40 acres and my props, the name of the song

A.G. is saying peace and I’m gone