I fucking hate rappers, you fuck and date rappers
I do a show, peep the crowd, fucking great- rappers
Anyone who ain't rappers, let's have a show of hands
Cause there's too many emcees, not enough fans
Used to be about the posses, crews, cliques, and the clans
Now these 'Lil-Young-Boyz' thinkin' they the fuckin' man
They're the reason fans only gave Lupe a chance
Cause they thought "Kick, Push" was the name of a dance
Well my click, clack, spray ain't the wave of the hands
It's the way of the land - while I stay in demand
Now they say I'm the man. I'm beginning to be
The PackFM in his prime you're pretending to be
So when you see that nigga me, recognize the history
Ever since I hit the scene I've been deemed an entity
Even did this shit for free, dawg, do your research
Hip hop changed my life, Dilla changed your t-shirt
What's the big deal, I just say what y'all thinkin
You're stompin with your mind, but tip toe with the inkpen
And won't shit change, except for niggas steady 'riffing
Shit ain't funny, I'm a stand up guy like Eddie Griffin
So if you hear a name mentioned, it ain't to gain attention
My intention is the same even if I'm blacklisted
So dead all that talk about "Ooh Pack dissed em"
There's a lot of shit we're about to get out of Pack's system
I try to black it out stay in a zone of my own y'all
But then some little bitch gets a text or a phone call
And won't pick it up, she let's it ring for the whole song
And next thing I find my self singing along
Like hold on...

Bitch, if you don't pick up your fuckin' phone
Don't you see me talkin' here? Goddammit!

We gotta hold someone accountable for this absurd amount of bull
They tell me words are powerful but this is insurmountable
So call me a hater, say I'm mad, it won't phase me
So when I'm on this fuckin mic, speakin' through the wire
I'm a get an 'Amen' because I'm preaching to the choir
But I know my voice is reaching, when the heathens call me Sire
And they leave behind the legions of the demons in the fire
The fans don't demand it stops, the standards drop
The second they accept it, shit, it's gettin' hectic
Supporters turn skeptic when the talent is neglected
They don't know what to expect from the nigga's they respected
The mark of the artist is who pushes the hardest
Not who strays the farthest, but stays true regardless
I step outside the box, you'll never question where my heart is
Like certain heads who try to set themselves apart for starters
If you played Common now, for Common Sense in '92
The 'Bitch In Yoo' woulda been the 'Bitch In Yoo Part Two'
But when the main aim is fame, you can't kick the same shit
When no one's listening, you gotta make some changes
Pride gets you nowhere, niggas become shameless
Used to go against the grain, now you ride the wavelength
At the end of the day, stand by your statements
"If I don't like it, I don't like it – that don't mean I'm hating"
You gotta be more than I'll to make green like Chlorophyll
You can take all the skill, invent some sort of pill
Throw it in a bottle, slap a sticker on it
And it's STILL irrelevant, that's why you need a model to sell the shit
I'm beating a dead horse! So, I'm a scream til I'm hoarse
From tellin these dead beats get lost
Just abandon ship, let's ban this bitch
A sellout can't exist if he can't get rich
I just can't stand this shit! Hit the panic switch!
And put an end to this chapter, from here on after
Then no one will have to deal with the wrath of
These half-assed fucking bandwagon riding rappers