where's the inspiration

[J.T.S.]

chrous

i let the track smoke stronger than any four alarm blaze
have the whole world amazed when i wake em up in the maze
half of us are slaves the other half workers
where's the inspiration knowadays in hip-hop? being broker

verse one

we can settle a heavy metal vendetta with letters, and beats
fire on your entire fleet for feelin' the weak meet your defeat
i'm talking sparring with hands, and feet
had to practice defense was rusty, sword was dusty
you clowns crusty thinking u can crush me
rush me with a few punches i'll make ya'll lunches
bagged then sent out to school youngsters
amongst us convicts who respect his calmness
a victorious victor who runs parades on republicans, and fascits
zionists feel the iron fist i'm fatally up close
if you approach prepare to roast hung by your rosary
see were all in the same boat dead broke
either selling merchandise legit or cuttin' coke
still soul searching 30 years deep in this with more years to follow
used to think shallow ice cold til' i got the message in the bottle


verse two

where i grew up nobody banged or threw up signs
we wanted for nothing besides jordans, tims, and dimes at lunchtime
grinding i never knew the meaning until i was surrounded by fiends fiending
so i changed my outlook 200 page notebook full of verses and hooks
college was a waste the kid was born a mic crook
killing shows with hidden scrolls promoters charges low
whatever kept my seeds fed without a bullet in my head
see the crime-wave hit my hood the epidemic spread
bandana's blue, and red know everyone wants street cred
i guess it's out with conciousness everybody mentally dead
i'd be a hypocrite if i said i never wanted head from a dime in bed
or didn't dream of a mansion and a yaht
but a wake up dose of reality 18 months on a cell block is what i got
got shot calling the shots then i fell back from the ox holding flock
the drama stopped know the spots the studio no longer the blocks

last verse

access wasn't granted guess i took too much for granted
see the diamonds and the big checks had us kids enchanted
mama handed us five's and ten's but we wanted benjamens
and an end to this hood life then studying the yang, and yin
so many niggas are plastic like lil' kim
somehow we get it in never forgetting where we coudv'e been
a victim still allah blessed tired, and stressed
living to be a failure dying to be the best
chains on my chest used to dream to be fresh
still won't do it for the music so fuck the rest
no names spoken but these niggas cannot be awoken they'll die boasting
about a block they drove through but never hustled on
Big been dead and you emcee's still dead wrong
life is a dice game and i hit the seven on the pavement head strong