Dead Prez Hip Hop Lyrics
            Uh, uh, uh, 1-2, 1-2
            Uh, uh, 1-2, 1-2, uh, uh
            All my dogs...
        
            [Hook]
            It's bigger than..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip..
            It's bigger than..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip-hop
        
            [M1]
            Uh, one thing 'bout music when it hit you feel no pain
            White folks say it controls yo' brain
            I know better than that, that's game
            And we ready for that - two soldiers head of the pack
            Matter of fact, who got the gat?
            And where my army at? Rather attack and not react
            Back to beats, it don't reflect on how many records get sold
            On s__, drugs and rock 'n' roll
            Whether your project's put on hold
            In the real world; these just people with ideas
            They just like me and you when the smoke and camera disappear
            Against the real world *echos*
            It's bigger than all these fake-a__ records
            When po' folks got the millions and my woman's disrespected
            If you check 1-2, my word of advice to you is just relax
            Just do what you got to do; if that don't work, then kick the facts
            If you a fighter, rider, biter, flame-ignitor, crowd-exciter
            Or you wanna jus' get high, then just say it
            But then if you a liar-liar, pants on fire, wolf-crier, agent wit' a wire
            I'm gon' know it when I play it
        
            [Hook]
        
            [stic.man]
            Uh, who shot Biggie Smalls?
            If we don't get them, they gon' get us all
            I'm down for runnin' up on them crackers in they city hall
            We ride for y'all - all my dogs stay real
            n____, don't think these record deals gon' feed your seeds
            And pay your bills, because they not
            MCs get a little bit of love and think they hot
            Talkin' 'bout how much money they got; all y'all records sound the same
            I'm sick of that fake thug, R&B-rap scenario, all day on the radio
            Same scenes in the video, monotonous material
            Y'all don't here me though
            These record labels slang our tapes like dope
            You can be next in line and signed; and still be writing rhymes and broke
            You would rather have a Lexus? or justice? a dream? or some substance?
            A Beamer? a necklace? or freedom?
            Still a n____ like me don't playa-hate, I just stay awake
            This real hip-hop; and it don't stop 'til we get the po-po off the block
            They call it...
        
            [Hook 2x]
        
            [Repeat 6x]
            D.P.'s got that crazy s___
            We keep it crunked-up, John Blazed and s___
        
            (*"They call it, call it, call it" -> stic.man*)
            (*"Fake, fake, fake records" -> M1*)
        
See also:
JustSomeLyrics
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