Lyrics (so you can follow along)
For my real hip-hop heads, please stand up
It went from being an art to something we can’t love
And the art of it never included all the degradation
People listening to Malcom, trying to fight the segregation
Not supposed to be approved or even played on every station
Just some people in the struggle speaking out to get complacent
Well, yea – take it back to the South Bronx
It wasn’t about money or even about songs, it was
Telling the people of oppression they face
And that America had put them in a desolate place
So they made beat-boxing and street talkin' graffiti-rockin
As a way to tell America it’s sleep-walkin
Breakdancin to shake hands with every other person
Strugglin under the Jim Crow wasteland
Then, Grand Master Flash dropped “The Message”
White America damn near stopped the presses
Hip-hops going in the wrong direction
Time to make these black people stop connectin
So corporations made the revolution and act
Into rap, so people would equate stupid with black
And it was not what you thought it was
It was not poppin slugs at a cop on the block for fun
It was a voice for the struggle to penetrate the fables,
It would denigrate the labels, grab a pen and make it fatal
But you’re given the rhythm and takin a toll,
Breaking it down so they know
But they appropriated the culture and made it their own
Made it their own, made it their own, made it their own
A record label is like a slave ship
Cause once you get on
They take your culture, but they do it with a fake whip
And they get tired cause they're workin or choppin
And us consumers are the ones that always purchase the cotton
So let me tell you bout the birds and the bees
The birds are free and the bees serve the queen
So who you gonna be, bee
Or who you gonna be, bird?
Are you gonna keep peace, or speak industry words
So think of everyone you know in the game
Hip hop is homeless - it is hopin for change
For my real hip-hop heads, please stand up
It went from being an art to something we can’t love
And the art of it never included all the degradation
People listening to Malcom, trying to fight the segregation
Not supposed to be approved or even played on every station
Just some people in the struggle speaking out to get complacent
Well, yea – take it back to the South Bronx
It wasn’t about money or even about songs, it was
Telling the people of oppression they face
And that America had put them in a desolate place
So they made beat-boxing and street talkin' graffiti-rockin
As a way to tell America it’s sleep-walkin
Breakdancin to shake hands with every other person
Strugglin under the Jim Crow wasteland
Then, Grand Master Flash dropped “The Message”
White America damn near stopped the presses
Hip-hops going in the wrong direction
Time to make these black people stop connectin
So corporations made the revolution and act
Into rap, so people would equate stupid with black
And it was not what you thought it was
It was not poppin slugs at a cop on the block for fun
It was a voice for the struggle to penetrate the fables,
It would denigrate the labels, grab a pen and make it fatal
But you’re given the rhythm and takin a toll,
Breaking it down so they know
But they appropriated the culture and made it their own
Made it their own, made it their own, made it their own
A record label is like a slave ship
Cause once you get on
They take your culture, but they do it with a fake whip
And they get tired cause they're workin or choppin
And us consumers are the ones that always purchase the cotton
So let me tell you bout the birds and the bees
The birds are free and the bees serve the queen
So who you gonna be, bee
Or who you gonna be, bird?
Are you gonna keep peace, or speak industry words
So think of everyone you know in the game
Hip hop is homeless - it is hopin for change
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