Being Underground

Being underground means what I write you take something from it
Pen a rhyme for the profit and survive as a starving artist
With a day job that can't even keep the studio bumping
But the shit I cook for you in the booth is makin' me hungry

(Cha ching!) That's the sound of multiple coins in the piggy bank
But still not enough to get me sneakers for that gig in Jan
Shit, I spend it all on spitting fire for these silly fans
Scribble them autographs on pirated purple CD backs

It's fame nonetheless, I either accept it or go and be
Just a ghost on a record with intangible emotions
If you connect to the beat and find your peace in the melody
Then let it take control of soul and ascend you to novelties on a Heavenly trip with an Unforgettable memory

But don't forget! that you're in a Mind of An unknown
Unseen, twisted and as deep as the eye of a cyclone
Nevertheless, Hip Hop never died because I never mourned

Can't really tell, coz I don't know what's going on
Things have changed and I don't know where I belong
The money made the world go round
The music plays on but nobody ever wants to dance
I'm underground
I got one story, and only one story to tell

They say the loot is the root of all evil and thinking about it
We on our way to hell coz we can't do nothing without it
If my mic check was tight rap with a history lesson
You think one o' them hype fans in a tight Guess pants woulda bought it?

If the music was good, they would all be actin' upon it
This Hip Hop generation we thought we making them rhymes for
Don't pay attention, this is disrespecting the art form
Robo The Technician, a god, invisible icon

Oh he was mad nice, but the sad part, he died poor
The war's tricky, what do I fight for if I'm not killing?
And since I don't get paid often
I'm painted a criminal in the minds of a saint's children
'Coz you chose to shake yo ass to the trash on a dead beat

Instead of teaching me how to react to be seen as a villain
That you've build on the bases of hatred and pain for the record
Now tell me? How many backs can they smash on the record
And tell us that they got off with the best raps to recon?

Can't really tell, coz I don't know what's going on
Things have changed and I don't know where I belong
The money made the world go round
The music plays on but nobody ever wants to dance
I'm underground
I got one story, and only one story to tell

Like sand in a hour glass, I never saw the time move
'Tll everything went upside down deep for the art o' rap
Wave back to the hands of time, mortalized on a pad
I was like, this shit is easy if you do it for the love o' rap

So I stepped up like suicidal teens who's having None Of That
Back pack was packed, baggy pants size was Hammer dance
Didn't have to face a mountain or meditate with a Monk to acquire the mad pen skill, I just discovered that

Proceeded to cover the mic like Jackson's Umbrella man
Then set a plan, to never rest, and rank the best to average
Redefine lyricism ev'ry bar in a paragraph
Vividly portrayed like pictures in a parallelogram

I finally mastered the craft, talk with intelligence
Server the best o' the best, but I'll make you aware of that
And who's the god on the mic? make ME aware o' that
Oh and just for the hell of it, The Weatherman

Things have changed and I don't know where I belong
The money made the world go round
The music plays on but nobody ever wants to dance
I'm underground
I got one story, and only one story to tell