Hands in the air, hands in the air
No this ain’t a party, this a robbery here
Give your life away, give your life away
You got the gun in your hand, sign it right here
I always dreamed of trying to make it big
But it seems I’d rather wanna die in a ditch
A switch in my mind about stopping all these rhymes
Cuz these b#tches in their suits don’t account for my time
They lying, they crying, “clear that sample”, man, I’m dying
I’m either following the leader of I’m going into hiding
They prying into your soul life they’re producing Black b#stards
They kick you to the curb and steal all your masters
Pour your hеart into a 12-track tape
You send it off to them, thеy say “yea, it’s great”
11 months later you say “we doing business??”
They call you back never and say “we didn’t listen”
I’m steaming, I’m heated
They tryna call the shots, I can’t even believe it
Whatever happened to company loyalty?
They treat me like royalty then steal all my royalties
I say “where’s my f#cking paycheck?”
They go “uhhhhhhhhhhh”
Oh sh#t brotha! I caught a thief!
I ain’t getting paid at all, my paper’s shredded, splat
A breach in a contract, to them it’s tit for tat
Finders keepers, you’re back on the bleachers
You get no true gold if you’re not one of the leaders
I never seen something like a robbery that’s legal
Stolen from in a country of freedom, bald eagle
Might dish out revenge in a manner that’s lethal
Or I could just fake my death like Spike Spiegel
My awards might come out in a state of remorse
But the leader of the source won’t feel bad, of course
“We lost an artist today fellas, sweet trips
Let’s write a paragraph about them on page 6”
Pulled from their bag of tricks they use when they must
An artist they had squabbles with, their legacy be in the dust
A portrait of me be in the hall of fame
But when the boss’s door opens, it’s covered; what a shame
There’s even a game to being remembered the best
Tons of music left, but it wouldn’t sell as much as the rest
A posthumous album is top in the country
But “The Best of Sickly SId”, he don’t bring in the money
I’m hiding out, looking for masters in their bas#ments
Gonna swipe em, lock em up in a vault just like Prince
Ain’t nobody get they hands on these
I’d be saying if I have any luck retrieving them with ease
Ayo, we got leaks upon leaks
It’s about them spitting on a beat
Talkin ’bout how they’ve been beat from lying f#ckers in the ‘corps
Make sue they’re dealt with, can’t no one bat an eye
Not a single bootleg will reach for the sky
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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