System by Mr. Roam Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Now let's begin, how should I start?
Dedicated to the lyrical retard
That had the opportunity to shine with rhyme
But in fact is wack and ain't even worth a dime of mine, and I'm...
Something that your mother warned about
Meaner than cold, dirtier than the south
And word of mouth, is that Roama was coming out with some hot shit
You know that bass and drum brother coming well equipped. I
Walk, talk it, and live it
Make my money old fashioned
You ain't feeling me - well I ain't askin'
You're like a pain in my ass man - a hemorrhoid
Eff a critic wannabe playboy that got the nerve to give me flack for rap
The thing I do for fun, is bouncing over the drum
A choice between love and steady income
I was born to be winnin' making the right decisions
Rock Clark's and sport linen
Get paid while the record is spinnin'
[Chorus]
But what a fucked-up way to make a livin'
Talk shit for couple bars and make a killin'
But who am I to disagree when that shit paid me?
I guess I'm just another product of the system
What a fucked-up way to make a living
Talk shit for couple bars...
But who am I to disagree?
[Verse 2]
I see you livin' on your hands and knees, begging, looking for a handout
I think you may have took the wrong route
Let me send a quick shout-out
To the hoes, the clothes, the videos...
The rhyme writers, the biters, the A&Rs...
The managers, the publishers, the lawyers...
The record execs, producers
You know they're quick to line up to douche you like a stank whore
That's why I got a bed, but still I sleep on the floor cuz
I ain't trustin' no thug niggs no more cuz (I'm not sure)
Might end up like Wallace and Shakur cuz
This rap shit is gettin' serious
To die for, it's just ridiculous
I can continue, you can refuse to listen
Sign your life away and friggin' wind up missin'
Cuz it's a fucked-up way to make a livin'...
Hahahahahahaha
Now let's begin, how should I start?
Dedicated to the lyrical retard
That had the opportunity to shine with rhyme
But in fact is wack and ain't even worth a dime of mine, and I'm...
Something that your mother warned about
Meaner than cold, dirtier than the south
And word of mouth, is that Roama was coming out with some hot shit
You know that bass and drum brother coming well equipped. I
Walk, talk it, and live it
Make my money old fashioned
You ain't feeling me - well I ain't askin'
You're like a pain in my ass man - a hemorrhoid
Eff a critic wannabe playboy that got the nerve to give me flack for rap
The thing I do for fun, is bouncing over the drum
A choice between love and steady income
I was born to be winnin' making the right decisions
Rock Clark's and sport linen
Get paid while the record is spinnin'
[Chorus]
But what a fucked-up way to make a livin'
Talk shit for couple bars and make a killin'
But who am I to disagree when that shit paid me?
I guess I'm just another product of the system
What a fucked-up way to make a living
Talk shit for couple bars...
But who am I to disagree?
[Verse 2]
I see you livin' on your hands and knees, begging, looking for a handout
I think you may have took the wrong route
Let me send a quick shout-out
To the hoes, the clothes, the videos...
The rhyme writers, the biters, the A&Rs...
The managers, the publishers, the lawyers...
The record execs, producers
You know they're quick to line up to douche you like a stank whore
That's why I got a bed, but still I sleep on the floor cuz
I ain't trustin' no thug niggs no more cuz (I'm not sure)
Might end up like Wallace and Shakur cuz
This rap shit is gettin' serious
To die for, it's just ridiculous
I can continue, you can refuse to listen
Sign your life away and friggin' wind up missin'
Cuz it's a fucked-up way to make a livin'...
Hahahahahahaha