Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Dead Prez
Dead Prez
Performer
Hedrush
Hedrush
Drums
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
C. Gavin
C. Gavin
Lyrics
L. Alford
L. Alford
Composer
Andrew Mair
Andrew Mair
Composer
V. Williams
V. Williams
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Dead Prez
Dead Prez
Producer
Doug Wilson
Doug Wilson
Mixing Engineer
Blair Wells
Blair Wells
Recording Engineer

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Uh
Uh
Uh (One two, one two)
Uh
Uh (One two, one two)
Uh
Uh (All my dawgs)
[Verse 2]
It's bigger than hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, hip
It's bigger than hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, uh
[Verse 3]
One thing 'bout music, when it hit, you feel no pain
White folks say it controls your 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 than not react
Back the beats, it don't reflect
On how many records get sold
On sex, 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 cameras disappear
Again, the real world (World)
It's bigger than all these fake-ass records
When poor folks got the millions and my woman's disrespected
If you check, one, two
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, lighter, flame ignitor, crowd exciter
Or you wanna just get high, then just say it
But then if you a liar-liar, pants on fire
Wolf-cry agent with a wire
I'm gon' know it when I play it
[Verse 4]
It's bigger than hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, hip
It's bigger than hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, uh
[Verse 5]
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
****, don't think these record deals gon' feed your seeds
And pay your bills because they not (Uh-uh)
Emcees 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 hear me though
These record labels slang our tapes like dope
You can be next in line and signed and still be writin' rhymes and broke
You would rather have a Lexus or justice?
A dream or some substance?
A Beamer, a necklace, or freedom?
Still, a **** like me don't playa hate, I just stay awake
This real hip-hop, and it don't stop
Till we get the po-po off the block, they call it
[Verse 6]
Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, hip
It's bigger than hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, hip
It's bigger than hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop, hip
It's bigger than hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
[Verse 7]
DP's got that crazy shit, we keep it crunk up
John Blazed and shit, what?
DP's got that crazy shit, we keep it crunk up
John Blazed and shit, what? (What a **** wanna do?)
DP's got that crazy shit, we keep it crunk up
John Blazed and shit, (One-two, one-two)
DP's got that crazy shit, we keep it crunk up
John Blazed and shit
DP's got that crazy shit, we keep it crunk up
They call it
Fake, fake, fake records
Written by: Andrew Mair, C. Gavin, Clayton Angelo Gavin, L. Alford, V. Williams
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