Yeah, I've been around the motherf**in' world The f** you know? Yo everybody wanna talk sh** When you make a new album It's not good as the last one How many have sold? See all them cheap-a** n***az that review your record Them s**ers with fancy iPods, like a b**h they download And go on the internet like a booking agent asking you for a free show They destroyed the goodness like somebody pissin' in the snow A bunch of underground groups, f**in' up the game Goin' out with they a** out and a cheap-a** band For five hundred a night, that's the reason why hip-hop is dead Your venue is booked up, with circus clown acts That perform cheaply, in your local paper I see the same lame n***az in the Village Voice and the L.A. Weekly Doin' them same bullsh** gigs repeatedly These cats performin' for cold cuts and juice backstage Need to stop immediately People that can't find your record, stop lyin' and go to Virgin Otherwise you should cut yourself in the face like a surgeon Always searchin' on the web, like you spend money When the merchandise show up you got thin money Always talkin' out your a** (Shut the f** up) I remember when chicks used to f** a superstar Now they want you to meet they boyfriend And go home with them and meet they brother in the car And play some rapper who's tryin' to be Kool Keith, that sh** is bizarre They gettin' sick on the floor on d** like Anna Nicole Smith Vomitin' every night; they takin' it too far After I get off stage they wanna hop to another bar C'mon man, I got one night in your town You're gonna play a bullsh** guy on your CD that sound like I sound Promoters wanna talk sh** and pull me down Pick me up from the airport in a bullsh** truck and drop me off b**h you ain't gotta take me around I find the mall, any way to rejuvenate Is Keith gonna show up? Oh you can hate Hippie Euro savin' ba*tard, I was there live Right in London for two weeks with my f**in' outfit All these rumors how the f** they get in your head? Where you hear this sh**? I'm in Paris tonight I did, I quick and split Always talkin' out your a** (Shut the f** up) Always talkin' out your a** (Shut the f** up) All them acts, y'all call them n***az Ain't no real showmen like bullsh** rock bands With black t-shirts, what's creative about this? You tell me first These people supportin' 'em wear tight-a** pants Skulls on they belt buckles be the worst I've been in three hundred million ten magazines What the f** you gon' wait for me to die like James Brown To put me on the cover of Spin magazine? Pages out here that's full of untalented motherf**ers I've never seen Young editors with a dick in they mouth on the scene I'm your f**in' kid's dream, j**elry and a lot of p**y Already I feel like I play on a basketball team Whatever you don't like you can hate I know you a guy that just got the job cause you f**in' fake I take your chick out for dinner for a milkshake You name a rapper you like, I'm not funny at all duke I'll take a piss in his face Always talkin' out your a** (Shut the f** up) Always talkin' out your a** (Shut the f** up) Always talkin' out your a** (Shut the f** up) Always talkin' out your a** (Shut the f** up)