Out the Box

I thought I did Hip Hop. Niggas say I do backpack music. I don't own diamonds There's nothing in the lining Call me a backpacker I keep the music climbin' I've got heart, I've got soul Ready or not I think out the box Niggas ... to call our names, put me in categories My story? I guess I backpack my way to glory With a napsack I'm strapped Like a days of awe My question - did the hip hop loose its soul? Am I to just pigeonhole with no room to grow? I do songs to perform, not to come to blows I'm a professional you know? Don't label me nigga, all the sizzles closed I chose to wear earth tones, And leave rappers like the colour on my birthstones Like a thief with And told them to wild I'm home grown but I'm fond to advance I became my own man, god damn! It's all about hard work nigga leave nothing to chance I gotta move forward, I gotta advance Please quit with the glancing I've been doing this since Hally Hansen Wasn't Nigga must you keep asking? I do it for the love, why you got that reaction? Yo, bare for radio to hot for TV My BDS scams are embarassing slightly I'm still waiting for VH1 to mic me They say I'm too underground for MTV Like a little to deep for average listeners Spit a verse that'll fuck up your algorithms I sound like the birdmans grill Got an abundance of rap skill so I spill My beans on this industry niggas that Well I'm fat like a sound Like the Matrix they call it a machine I'm straight to the point like a laser beam Got a lock on my spot like Or credits on production Mic check one, one, two, three I'm no tree hugger, vegan or activist Well, maybe when it comes to this rapping shit I'm trying to filter those who pop up like spam if I can But bill boys