[Intro]
Ladies and Gentlemans
This an ode to the b-boy,b-girls,
The people out there who do it for the love
And believe me I'm not dissin' anybody out there who's trying to get paid,
I'm trying to get paid too
But I got one question
[Verse 1: Macklemore]
Whatever happened to the heart
That pumped the passion into the art
The entity that gave you the energy to wanna start
Break dancin',imma battling doing it at the park
Where the mission was expression not only to top charts
I dont know what happened wanting to blow rap
You lose soul and passion for the flows and the tracks
Radio's lackin', controlled by Fascists a******* doin' damage
But we're gunna take it back
Before beats to a hundred g's a pop
All you needed was a table top and a beat box
Hip-hop with out the b-boy is like shell toes only havin' two stripes
Hip-hop we're freedom-fighting graffiti-writing party types,
That recite and organize and revitalize our rhymin' till the group of the money makers systems knows the industry can eventually get served.
Breakers of my verses spinning up a revolutions throughout our words
If you really want it come on get it cause i've got it
I'm honestly paying homage to forgotten pioneers of this c**ture that are giving them props and learn.
If you wanna earn your stripes
You gotta be able to rock this mic and set cyphers alike.
The feeling to put in everything you got in the circle, or never be documented in the c**e commercial.
(We be the badest)
[Verse 2: Macklemore]
Now b-boys, b-girls,
Bring it back to the block.
Lemme see you get ill, for real, pop and lock.
If you record without thought then stop,
Because I'll serve ya whole album with the g****** beatbox.
Without thought it just happens.
If you gotta think to feel that's not rapping that's acting.
I'm from a land of backpacks and fat-caps,
MC's with sick raps who serve those that are wack.
It's a way of life; I put all my energy into the melody on the MP3's until the death of me,
Record exceptionally, especially,
Whenever I be monumentally, grammatically, killing the mic.
I tell my DJ's, cranking that music, keeping 'em moving when the beat plays,
Staying into it, breaking and grooving, and MC's they,
Thinking that you should always pursue in what their dreams make,
Taking from lucid.
All the people gotta make their money, and the way to make money is to get inside of the industry, take it on the radio, flow, so you can go blow, we get a car and a crib up on MTV, but,
In the end what's classic?
Radio bubblegum? or a voice filled with passion?
To my real hip-hop heads, please stand up,
Cause the only people that can preserve this art is us
Ladies and Gentlemans
This an ode to the b-boy,b-girls,
The people out there who do it for the love
And believe me I'm not dissin' anybody out there who's trying to get paid,
I'm trying to get paid too
But I got one question
[Verse 1: Macklemore]
Whatever happened to the heart
That pumped the passion into the art
The entity that gave you the energy to wanna start
Break dancin',imma battling doing it at the park
Where the mission was expression not only to top charts
I dont know what happened wanting to blow rap
You lose soul and passion for the flows and the tracks
Radio's lackin', controlled by Fascists a******* doin' damage
But we're gunna take it back
Before beats to a hundred g's a pop
All you needed was a table top and a beat box
Hip-hop with out the b-boy is like shell toes only havin' two stripes
Hip-hop we're freedom-fighting graffiti-writing party types,
That recite and organize and revitalize our rhymin' till the group of the money makers systems knows the industry can eventually get served.
Breakers of my verses spinning up a revolutions throughout our words
If you really want it come on get it cause i've got it
I'm honestly paying homage to forgotten pioneers of this c**ture that are giving them props and learn.
If you wanna earn your stripes
You gotta be able to rock this mic and set cyphers alike.
The feeling to put in everything you got in the circle, or never be documented in the c**e commercial.
(We be the badest)
[Verse 2: Macklemore]
Now b-boys, b-girls,
Bring it back to the block.
Lemme see you get ill, for real, pop and lock.
If you record without thought then stop,
Because I'll serve ya whole album with the g****** beatbox.
Without thought it just happens.
If you gotta think to feel that's not rapping that's acting.
I'm from a land of backpacks and fat-caps,
MC's with sick raps who serve those that are wack.
It's a way of life; I put all my energy into the melody on the MP3's until the death of me,
Record exceptionally, especially,
Whenever I be monumentally, grammatically, killing the mic.
I tell my DJ's, cranking that music, keeping 'em moving when the beat plays,
Staying into it, breaking and grooving, and MC's they,
Thinking that you should always pursue in what their dreams make,
Taking from lucid.
All the people gotta make their money, and the way to make money is to get inside of the industry, take it on the radio, flow, so you can go blow, we get a car and a crib up on MTV, but,
In the end what's classic?
Radio bubblegum? or a voice filled with passion?
To my real hip-hop heads, please stand up,
Cause the only people that can preserve this art is us