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Kool Keith
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Plastic world
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Letra actual de la canción
"Yeah, Kool Keith should keep it real<br />He should rap about space and Mars..."<br /><br />[Kool Keith]<br />Yo, I'm tired of looking at everybody. Same boots, skully hats in<br />90 degree weather, looking to get into clubs for free. I'm not<br />smoking blunts, or looking for jazz records at the Roosevelt.<br /><br />I left New York, the city itself was stress depression<br />High boots and urban beats, that wasn't my direction<br />Producers filtering join in with R&B<br />A million rappers, some clones trying to sound like me<br />Biting my space styles, biting my horror-core<br />All I saw was Kool Keiths on my thaw<br />Record companies had G'd-off all my royalties<br />Watching vinyl spin, local groups' wack MC's<br />Some try to rap with that perpetrate mobster crap<br />Karl Kani jeans, fat stomachs in the limosines<br />Mixtapes by wack DJ's adds doo doo play<br />I'm on the turnpike, the city drifting down the highway<br />Like a mirage, the style there is all illusion<br />On videos out of town, peoples buy confusion<br />Rolling high with cash pulled over down my eye<br />Since I've been out, y'all can't see<br /><br />Chorus:<br />Is the world made of plastic?<br />Is the city buried in dreams? (Yeah)<br />Is the world made of plastic?<br />Cause that's the way is seems (Owww)<br /><br />Watching TV so bored, while imbiciles hold the mic cord<br />Graffiti playgrounds are played out, yo how'd that sound?<br />Army fatigues are weak, is for the minor leagues<br />No rapping cyphers or brothers in the rented Benz<br />Crews on stage, acting hard with a thousand friends<br />I saw the place turn plastic, crackers looping beats<br />People with no deals, walkmen rappin on the streets<br />I turned my back, 90% of the city sounded wack<br />Payola scams switched DJ's like a rubber band<br />Everybody clear with beats trying to be Premier<br />Clearing samples, your SP-12 fake examples<br />My money grows with green from my own label<br />While you act rich with no cash on the bigger label<br />Your tri-state ways are shut down by barricades<br />In fact I packed my bags, and listened to E-40<br />Mac Mall, C-Bo, and other rappers you don't know<br />You're narrow-minded and styles of mind you won't find it<br />My sound proceeds with moog and undertone bass<br />No comic gimmicks with beats rapping in my face<br />I come back real, solid rock razor steel<br />Tap your program, show the world I'm the man<br />You copy Poppa Large, the industry is large<br /><br />Chorus x2<br /><br />As I do see sorta rugged wack beer commercials<br />Some rappers are bought and puppeteered like the Ninja Turtles<br />From Manhattan I heat up, yo light up Times Square<br />I make noise like open high hats on your cheap snare<br />No promotional shows, girls wear corn rows<br />People with hooded sweaters on crack keep me on my toes<br />I walk with straw hats, fake glasses in the projects<br />Bring my ghost image so tense on the line of scrimmage<br />Playing my numbers, waiting for the Five to come<br />Spaghetti out the window, people acting dumb<br />Fire hazards wake the neighbors, your family's nosy<br />I come and go as I please on blockhead MC's<br />You bought new sneakers, no car, scrambling on the corner<br />I'm not the star you are, the city's fallen far<br />By mechanism, you're on my tip<br />Stay off my penis, you've duplicated me for years<br /><br />Yeah, yeah, yeah, you are the one<br /><br />Chorus x2
Letra nueva de la canción
"Yeah, Kool Keith should keep it real<br />He should rap about space and Mars..."<br /><br />[Kool Keith]<br />Yo, I'm tired of looking at everybody. Same boots, skully hats in<br />90 degree weather, looking to get into clubs for free. I'm not<br />smoking blunts, or looking for jazz records at the Roosevelt.<br /><br />I left New York, the city itself was stress depression<br />High boots and urban beats, that wasn't my direction<br />Producers filtering join in with R&B<br />A million rappers, some clones trying to sound like me<br />Biting my space styles, biting my horror-core<br />All I saw was Kool Keiths on my thaw<br />Record companies had G'd-off all my royalties<br />Watching vinyl spin, local groups' wack MC's<br />Some try to rap with that perpetrate mobster crap<br />Karl Kani jeans, fat stomachs in the limosines<br />Mixtapes by wack DJ's adds doo doo play<br />I'm on the turnpike, the city drifting down the highway<br />Like a mirage, the style there is all illusion<br />On videos out of town, peoples buy confusion<br />Rolling high with cash pulled over down my eye<br />Since I've been out, y'all can't see<br /><br />Chorus:<br />Is the world made of plastic?<br />Is the city buried in dreams? (Yeah)<br />Is the world made of plastic?<br />Cause that's the way is seems (Owww)<br /><br />Watching TV so bored, while imbiciles hold the mic cord<br />Graffiti playgrounds are played out, yo how'd that sound?<br />Army fatigues are weak, is for the minor leagues<br />No rapping cyphers or brothers in the rented Benz<br />Crews on stage, acting hard with a thousand friends<br />I saw the place turn plastic, crackers looping beats<br />People with no deals, walkmen rappin on the streets<br />I turned my back, 90% of the city sounded wack<br />Payola scams switched DJ's like a rubber band<br />Everybody clear with beats trying to be Premier<br />Clearing samples, your SP-12 fake examples<br />My money grows with green from my own label<br />While you act rich with no cash on the bigger label<br />Your tri-state ways are shut down by barricades<br />In fact I packed my bags, and listened to E-40<br />Mac Mall, C-Bo, and other rappers you don't know<br />You're narrow-minded and styles of mind you won't find it<br />My sound proceeds with moog and undertone bass<br />No comic gimmicks with beats rapping in my face<br />I come back real, solid rock razor steel<br />Tap your program, show the world I'm the man<br />You copy Poppa Large, the industry is large<br /><br />Chorus x2<br /><br />As I do see sorta rugged wack beer commercials<br />Some rappers are bought and puppeteered like the Ninja Turtles<br />From Manhattan I heat up, yo light up Times Square<br />I make noise like open high hats on your cheap snare<br />No promotional shows, girls wear corn rows<br />People with hooded sweaters on crack keep me on my toes<br />I walk with straw hats, fake glasses in the projects<br />Bring my ghost image so tense on the line of scrimmage<br />Playing my numbers, waiting for the Five to come<br />Spaghetti out the window, people acting dumb<br />Fire hazards wake the neighbors, your family's nosy<br />I come and go as I please on blockhead MC's<br />You bought new sneakers, no car, scrambling on the corner<br />I'm not the star you are, the city's fallen far<br />By mechanism, you're on my tip<br />Stay off my penis, you've duplicated me for years<br /><br />Yeah, yeah, yeah, you are the one<br /><br />Chorus x2
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