Yeah
This one goes out to the starvin' artists.
The ones who almost finished college.
To my blue collar means-to-an-end brethren
who get the job accomplished.
The ex-con on probation who tries
to walk the straight and narrow.
To the critics in the cheap seats
who like to throw stones from the back row.
It's for the glow-stick holder,
High on X-Generation wave kits.
The single mother of three
who just wants to finish her education.
To the man who works the job he hates
to put food on the table.
And never complains (never complains)
But explains the parts
all the pieces of the game.
For the thugs, drug dealers
Non-believers, lovers and fighters
White collar criminals and businessmen
who wanna climb a little higher.
Yeah, I'll sign your little flyer.
It's for the rap stars and fans.
This goes out to punk rockers,
microchips, Carson Daly and hairbands.
To the grandstand major leaguers,
To the beer guy at the ballpark.
The man who disconnects my phone.
To the third shift staff at Wal-Mart.
With all heart,
this goes out to disgruntled postal workers
who send my packages late and damaged.
Yeah, don't worry, we can manage.
For the manager
at every 7-11 we stop on tour,
here's a rap song that you can be proud
and claim for you and yours.
For all my art-core hippies (all my hippies)
Who sit and long for the Sixties.
I got that hair soundtrack y'all.
Come along now, sing it with me!
For my over-50 crowd, yeah sorry
Rap's still around
This goes out to thrift store record sections
in every single little town.
For those who don't know what you got
For the haves and the have-nots
Big ups to all the street teamers
Graffiti bombers and all crooked cops.
I look alot
like every single person I see.
So in a sense,
I guess it's all just dedicated to me.
Elevated degrees
to all my Mount Everest climbin' thrill seekers,
Dope poppers, doctors, lawyers
and television preachers.
For the teachers, the students,
professors, deans and the headmasters
For Radio Raheem, RIP
Spike Lee and ghetto blasters.
For those who do the right thing
And for those who got it all wrong.
It's just for me and you, y'all.
This is our song!
(totally dope scratching interlude)
And it's for the rebels.
The Five Percent Nation
and all the white devils.
For those who reach for the stars
And for those that only choose to settle.
For the pothead that calls the kettle black.
The rappers that lack the skills.
Them cats who stand on stage and act
from ten to twelve to hold them bills.
You know the deal.
It's dedicated to the tourists bums and the Residents
This song is for the common man.
This song is for the President.
For Asians, Europeans, Africans.
It's even from Canada.
Left-hand at you drunk drivers
Bank tellers, coaches and janitors
Professionals, amateurs,
Varsity, JV, B-Team.
It's for grandparents,
uncles, aunts,
babysitters and preteens.
We sing songs for freedom.
We dance dances for imprisonment.
We'll knock you out on principle,
and slap ourselves just for the sentiment.
This song's about the Game of Life
Congratulations on enterin'.
Thank you and good night,
ladies and gentlemen.
@smartbot_tg_bot
