Politics-Tonedeff

Oh mercy, mercy me. At this point of my career I should already be on my third CD/ But every turn of the way has been met with adversity/ But Im cursed, it seems, and I been disserviced purposely/ And its herbs like these, thatve got my blood boiling to the third degree/ And Im nervously avoiding this urge to just burst and scream/ Feeling the thirst for revenge! I can no longer pretend/ That mentally I wont be plummeting off the deep end/ Im desperately seeking these trendy motherf**kers, Just so I can teach them never to speak on any of us/ Theres something you wanna say? Get that other rappers cock out your throat! No wonder hes been coming out your face/ Son, never doubt The Plague, cause we infect against even the best/ medicines and vaccines, sedatives and bactrine/ Im fed up with the rap scene/ As Im Dealing with an amount of politics that would even give the president bad dreams/ Every thing you see and hear was paid for/ So, dont try to discredit me, cause my sh*t isnt played more/ Just imagine having to wait, bored, at the stage door/ Cause nothing aches worse than a name on the marquis when it aint yours/ And youre trying desperately to make noise, but all you gets hate, From biased record pools thatll chart anything for their next crate/ Or elitist DJs that only spin vinyl go get pressed!/ But give em a Nas exclusive MP3 and theyll play the sh*t dead. These vicious double-standards can be seen in many arenas of the game/ From radio burn to video screens, the shits the same/ From Magazines to mix DJs You give em the green, they give the OK Cause niggas are greedy leading the race, they sell you a dream and spit in your face/ And it isnt easy to look away, when youre focused on your Budden career/ Pumped up with potential, but you cant fire nothing from here/ Need anything done? Then you gotta do it yourself with no help/ When you make on your own? Then everyone shows to share the whole wealth. But, Oh well Another day in a cold hell. When everyone riding your coattails are the same cats thatll pray your record dont sell/ I wont settle for NO REMARKS about room for improvement/ When you boo at QN5 and refuse to review the music/ B**ch, youre fronting on the future, stop watching your back and face forward/ Reviewers best to listen to this like they paid for it/ Cause, what the f**k!? Do I need to get shot to get props? Do you need talent? I guess not but with drug money and a guest spot/ You can spend lots on a track from the producer of the month/ And thatll induce you with the buzz, thatll get you news-scoops and the pub/ But Buddy, Im flat broke. So on that note, Ill say goodbye to articles/ Bookings for college shows, distribution pushing us hard for dough/ Then you wondering why youre seeing the same niggas over and over/ The more original the flow, then, the colder the shoulder/ The same reason you cant stand that verse you heards/ The same reason you know it word for word. Dog, its Politics. My patience is drifting/ Cause Im in no political position or famous enough to state my opinion/ Of this game and its minions, Im staying silent and numb/ Cause you cant put your foot in your mouth or swallow your words while youre biting your tongue/ So with nice-guy reluctance, Im fighting my grudges/ And its hard to be polite with others when youd rather take a knife to f**kers/ Heres my final shot at diplomacy believe this/ Swing for your third strike, Im calling you out on the remix/ Chorus: I cant breath And I cant see And I cant move Cause Im sick and tired of these politics