Old white men are running this rap shit,
Advertising companies, running this rap shit
Blood Money fucking running this rap shit
Tragic, careers disappear like magic

We been taken over like the old new world
Harder rappers now are marketed for school girls,
See the grime scene shine with a cleaner sheen
Bottom line, money is a mean machine
Murdering the musicality,
A few of us believing that we're serving you reality
But only dreaming,
I couldn't tell what I commonly earn
Don't wanna be working for the likes of Montgomery Burns,
Strive for autonomy, autotune or alter me vocally,
I aint ever saying okily dokily , whether locally
Globally, anywhere on the earth...
MC's - really unaware of their worth,
I seize the chance to take the mic, breaking down how it is
Bravely standing up like Sitting Bull, no cowardice...
Powerless, as power cuts while I'm blowing a fuse,
You'd be mad too, if you had a toe in my shoes...

Old white men are running this rap shit,
Advertising companies, running this rap shit
Blood Money fucking running this rap shit
Tragic, careers disappear like magic
Middle Class Kids running this rap shit
Television still running this rap shit
Rich lawyers are running this rap shit,
When they say your finished, your finished and thats it


Let me tell you about Lupe Fiasco
Chained to his record label, wouldn't let his ass go...
Said he had to make a track that would top charts,
One that nobody would beat like a stopped heart,
Not permitted to be rhyming like he wanted to...
Supervising every line in every single song he'd do
How suffocating,
Like the cover to your face when your sleeping,
Deep in the most dangerous, and intricate web...
Thinking your fly, they be spinning you a lie like a thread,
While, he openly opposed the microphone police,
Who replied, fine you aint getting no release...
Fucked up the way that it works...
We aint driven to be given no mercedes or merks,
Fame is a curse, Lasers emerged, fans slated it
Mr Fiasco said he fucking hated it...

Old white men are running this rap shit,
Advertising companies, running this rap shit
Blood Money fucking running this rap shit
Tragic, careers disappear like magic
Middle Class Kids running this rap shit
Television still running this rap shit
Rich lawyers are running this rap shit,
When they say your finished, your finished and thats it

Now where do I fit into the scheme?
I'd be lying If I rhymed that I'm living the dream
More bars than a prisoners seen
Lyrically I'm visual as cinema screens,
And I aint playing a part,
If money was the light, then i'll stay in the dark.
So Fuck you, Mr Suit and Tie...
I'd be double crossed, twice crucified.