Yo

A word to the wise

Deacon the Villain and Tonedeff know everything about hip-hop

So disagreeing with us makes you automatically fucking wrong

This goes out to all you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

Shut up and stop talking

(Step, start walking)

They smile in your face

(Stab you when you’re not watching)

All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

They tell you one thing (and then go do another)

Yo it's about time (we blew your cover)

Hypocritics!

Hey, what’s the matter with the world today?

There’s lots of hypocrites lurking, you can be sure to say

See, plenty of times, I’ve been verbally burned or turned away

By **** that haven’t earned their say

So, in my defense, I’ve learned to play

Cause I discerned decay in many crevices, heady rappers, biters

Writers and editors, so I take preventative measures

It’s shame that this game b-b-became a bit of a pain

I’m dealing with strain by getting my name

Shit on by **** that bitch and complain

Consider the fame of underground rappers

Who stand to waste their fan bases if sounds can can catch up

Like sales are bad luck

Some cats only support you when they believe they’ve bought you

But abort you the minute you blow the fuck up, or even start to

No need argue with these mean elitists

This new breed of teens is conceited, thinking that they conceived the whole scene as you see it

Like history prior to them was deleted

Now either you’re a conformist or an extremist

My grievances are not without warrant because I’ve seen this shitty element shine through

By cynical individuals carrying rifles

Don’t be original, don’t even try to

You’ll always sound like somebody else, 'til somebody else sounds like you

Be mindful of the powers that scheme

I’m seeing these dudes that never paid dues with interviews

And two-page spreads in glossy magazines

And I’ve had it with these fraudulent skeptics

The type to say they wrecked shit

When the whole audience was on their guest list

All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

Shut up and stop talking

(Step, start walking)

They smile in your face

(Stab you when you’re not watching)

All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

They tell you one thing (and then go do another)

Yo it's about time (we blew your cover)

Hypocritics!

Don’t you hate people without cars that critique how you’re driving?

What about them backseat rhymers doggin’ your one-liners?

Hip-hop-ocrites, they ain’t droppin shit, so they smell yours

And tell you how bad it stinks!

Claiming you fell short of their goal

It’s like you’re at a stage show

They ain’t throwing tomatoes, but full bottles of Prego

Like not seeking their non-seasoned advice would lead to your detriment

While they’re sounding like P. Diddy with a speech impediment

Knockin your better shit!

(Y’all couldn’t have heard it right!)

Usually, they are suburbanites that are living the urban life

Acting like your goal should be to be underground for life

(Aight, then pay our bills, bitch, and turn on our lights!)

These motherfuckas act like there’s a set of rules to follow

Well, check this, for you I got a set of jewels to swallow

'Cause half the cats you praise, you only like because he’s cool with your other favorite rapper

You only like him because he used to be Eminem’s back-up

Took a picture, had it posterized and found a wall to tack up

But when Eminem blew up, you threw up

Dissed him and became the next underground sensation’s new slut

It’s all sad

To you, songs with sung hooks, they’re all bad

But throw Anticon’s whackest rapper on it, and you’re all glad

This madness and inconsistency dulls my shine

These bitches would try to discredit VISA if it rhymed

Now chew on that line

All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

Shut up and stop talking

(Step, start walking)

They smile in your face

(Stab you when you’re not watching)

All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

They tell you one thing (and then go do another)

Yo it's about time (we blew your cover)

Hypocritics!

What do you do if you’re a dick, nobody likes you, and you never get light?

You start your own hip-hop website!

Now you’re a big fish in a small pond, controlling all the facets

Your opinions disappear in the instant your browser crashes

You underground babies cry the most, like you’re starting to teethe

He’s fifteen with an opinion

But me? I’m an artist with beef

“Dude, Tonedeff is all flow, he only talks fast”

Oh yeah? Well, here’s a slow fuck you for your stalled ass

Well, what do you do when your careers dyin', nearly with its breath gone?

You start whining, complaining, claiming you’re getting slept on

In the lab mixing elements for your so-called "best song"

Yelling, “I got the next bullet-single!”

But Billboard is wearing Teflon

Cooking up food for thought, but when your meal drops

And listeners don’t like your flavor, you pout that, “Y’all don’t know real hip-hop!”

Eat a dick, doc. Your fame clock must be past its tick-tock

Now, punching soda cans is the only way you’ll hit-pop

All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

Shut up and stop talking

(Step, start walking)

They smile in your face

(Stab you when you’re not watching)

All you hip-hop hypocrites talking like you know me

(But come face to face and it’s a whole different story)

They tell you one thing (and then go do another)

Yo it's about time (we blew your cover)

Hypocritics!

I'm tired of this shit (Me too, man)

Yo, yo, look

These motherfuckers man (What?)

They done went from wearing motherfucking tutus to FUBUs

From motherfucking Bugle Boy crew shorts to Newports (Preach on, brother!)

Half of these motherfuckers probably think Crush Crew was the name of some dance their parents used to do and shit

These pixie stick cupcake-ass hip-hop-ocrites probably couldn't find the on switch on a mic (No doubt, man)

They probably feel claustrophobic in a vocal booth and shit

But claiming they know what's truth (Right)

Motherfuckers done went from G.I. Joeing on Monday (What?)

To trading their Garbage Pail Kids cards on Tuesday

To building LEGO castles on Wednesday (What up?)

Flipping colors in the Lite-Brite on Thursday (Friday, do Friday)

To being a fucking hip-hop analyst on Friday (Yeah)

Most of them still probably be buying records off allowance and shit

But yet they know what's real and what's not (Fuck this shit)

Fuck these nut hugging bastards (Fuck 'em!)

Suck my dick (Mine too)

Fuck that (Fuck 'em)

Fuck that (Fuck 'em)