[Verse One: mcenroe]
You wanna measure up but you come up short
You need to understand life ain't a spectator sport
Don't even talk to me about your trials and tribs
Because my crew's been rapping since you slept in a crib
And if you just started making beats somewhat recently
Don't hand me a CD man, don't even speak to me
I've been patiently waiting while you fuss and you fidget
You played fewer live shows than your hand has digits
I kick it fresh, I guess I have experience to thank
Cause nobody put me on and pulled me up through the ranks
Back in the day I opened up for groups I idolized
They didn't watch me play, I quickly realize
That no matter what the level, everybody's looking upward
Been a minute since an A&R took me for supper
But I've been there and done that, who knows what I'll get next
Drove hours for one rap, played shows to d**h threats
We slept in the trunk of my car at rest stops
I've played while sick and still gave it my best shot
I've played in front of crowds from one to twenty thousand
I've stayed in fine hotels on down to messy houses
So give me the mic and then we can get it on
This rap sh** ain't a sprint, man to me it's a marathon
I'm probably the wrong man to ask for a hand out (no doubt)
Don't let the door hit you on the way out
[Hook: mcenroe]
You don't know how the rap game go
You don't blow up the spot with your very first show
Any old fool can write a rhyme
That don't mean that you have to be hitting the big time
Pay your dues (pay your dues now)
Pay your dues (pay your dues now)
Pay your dues (pay your dues)
Pay your dues (pay your dues)
[Verse Two: Birdapres]
They had a garage with a reel to reel machine
Mic'd the space up to get the feel the same
As they favorite band cause the drummer was skin tight
Could barely hear the singer, mic down his wind pipe
They played some bars
And schools and booze cans
Never got love at the local news stands
Got together on Wednesdays, maybe on Sunday
One way or another, to build up a fan base
Decided it was time, to press up a single
To sell at shows, while their name got bigger
Part time jobs, lump money together
Never had a manager or an investor
Never went nowhere and broke up after
A studio fire burned up the masters
All grown up now with kids of they own
Who laugh at dad's picture whenever they're shown
The music stood on it's own though, it had endurance
Copies draw big doe from cats in Europe
They sense purity in the deepest obscurity
Till it becomes an obsession in Japan and Germany
Reissued and compiled, repackaged and restyled
Off of some dead single that missed by a mile
The band's confused to hear the same excuse
From the lamest dudes who claim they paid their dues
[Hook]