Lyrics
Apocalypse, huh
Double A, what
5-1, Huh
West Coast, check it
Apocalypse, born to end, made of servancies
Critical for spittables, call a state of emergency
Rookies ain't heard of me, no cars, chains, and murdering
Gun clapping, burglaries, top gimmicks ain't heard of me
World surely needs more than glamour and glitz
Chumps trying to handle the mic but can't handle they bitch
Los Angeles vandalist shit wouldn't hold a candle to this
Flammable when I spit, a wild animal 'bout to flip
A cannibal when skin splits, words break down immune systems
He couldn't hang, got all mad, even his crew dissed him
So bear witness to the birth of a new era
No mini teens in skinny jeans wearing mascara
Hearts full of hate, stomachs full of hunger
My mind's trying to figure out the spell my body's under
I'm tripping out like the carpet got pulled under you
Music better change or else what's the world coming to?
H-I-P for all my real people
H-O-P not for the fake sequel
H-I-P is gonna come back
H-O-P you know you want that
I thank God for the people keeping hope alive
I'm so underground you wouldn't even know I died
Only if you didn't see me at the show tonight
And if you did then you probably saw a poltergeist
Every rhyme I write's a record deal notarized
Can't stop writing, my notebook is poster-sized
I'm so real I don't even know how to lie
That goes the same for the people I'm surrounded by
The game's bleeding, the industry's misleading
All the fame that you're needing is leaving a culture grieving
But I ain't leaving, just feeding off the fakeness
If you relate to this, you turning nothing into greatness
Mind over matter, don't matter where your mind is
I mind my own business, I don't mind if you rewind this
Blinded by the light so I'm seeing things pitch black
If change don't come then I'ma resort to witchcraft
H-I-P for all my real people