Hey You! (Yeah you!) Could you do me a favor 
And get a pad and some paper and jot the words of this savior 
You need to turn that radio right off 
right off right off right off right off right off 
Why? 
Well son I’ll tell ya boy 
The media they’ll tell ya boy 
That SUPERMAN’s a good song 
When it’s really killin culture boy 
These dudes that dance don’t rap 
Cause rappers they don’t dance 
They know how to produce a hit 
Same formula in every track 
That’s not art that’s just wrong 
Same ol shit in every song 
But zombies they just sing along, yo let’s be strong, and bring it on 
And put an end to the cut and paste 
The lyrically waste of space 
Stop putting money in their pockets and just punch them in the fucking face! 
But shh, I got a secret, they’re all just playing tough 
Real gangstas died out years back, these new kids homeslice they’re all talk 
They do it for the paper bill, to get a grill, and make a mill 
So fake they don’t know who they are, they don’t know how to keep it real 
So let me ask you, did ya hear what I said? 
Of course you did baby I’m all engrained in you head 
So listen up, pay attention, gonna start a revolution 
They’ve over stayed their welcome 
Beefy’s got the solution, push em 
Out your mind, out your heart, or over a cliff 
Yo if grunge rock had to die, I would say that pop hop is next 
Cause they don’t bring nothing to the table not already there 
That shits been played since I was a youngin gripping on a teddy bear 
So while they holla “paper paper, dolla bills yall” 
“I’m stright from the block yall, reaching for my steel yall” 
I’ll get competitive, a nerdy representative 
They’re rapping for the pride and I’m just rapping for the hell of it
Woop Woop! Yeah Yeah! Those are not lyrics 
You are raping the spirits of the dead MCs who would feel it 
And they would grip the mic and tell us all their stories and it was real from them 
All ya do is leech from them, ya might as well be paying them