Del's Nightmare - Del The Funky Homosapien

Let me tell you a little story about the slave master

Use a whip on your ass so you behave faster

You got chains on your neck, and the Man’s respect

You’ll work all damn day, but you will never see a check

In the field.

Cotton you yield.

Your skin peels off your back

From the crack of the whip.

It won’t heal

Ya wish you had a shield cause he wields iron

So when you act up, he smokes ya and keeps firing

And it’s tiring

Forget about recreation

One wrong move and it’s death you’re facing

White motha fuckaz got the ball and chain

On your leg, and in the form of religion on your brain

They say, «You the devil.»

You say, «Who the devil!!!»

Some of us was house niggers.

Some of us was rebels

Some tried to get along the best they could

And didn’t nobody use the phrase, «It's all good!»

Would you?

They got you living like a shrew

They throw you pig lips and chicken gizzards.

Then you make a stew

They give us a white Jesus to appease us

We talk among ourselves and hope nobody sees us

They had our brothers beating us.

Called us createns plus monkeys

They just junkies mistreating us

The master said, «If you don’t whip 'em, you’re dead!»

It was fucking with his head, but he beat us instead

And we bled

Red blood flowing like a flood

Then he’d rape your mother.

Stick her face in the mud

They were ruthless!

If you tried to front, you’d be toothless

Some tried to run even though it seemed useless

Virginity was torn.

Soon babies was born that was half white

And now his skin is kind of light

You think you’re special, because they let you

Oversee the carnage?

But I bet you

Will get hung, even if you stick out your tounge

Cause they pull out the shank and stick it right through you’re lung

Now it’s 96 and white people say, «Forget it

It’s all in the past.»

And some even regret it

Cause they think we’ll set it

Now my missions to get federal

So I can raise a black family with a true devils

And you know how that goes

The slave master watching over you

Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do!

The slave master watching over you

But ain’t nothing gonna stop me and my crew!

This is for you kids trying to get signed

Just a little something you should keep in mind:

The labels are slave masters.

Artists are slaves

Don’t get too raunchy.

They want you to behave

You get signed.

You’re thinking, «This is great!»

But wait You never knew what was at stake

Creative control they withold

You sell your soul when you sign on the dotted line hoping to go gold

But you’ll never see that, not without promotion

The label’ll just throw your shit out, and got it floatin'

You think your shit is potent, but ain’t nobody buying it

If they ain’t never heard of it, ain’t nobody trying it

If they ain’t never heard of it 'your record' they murder it

You can complain.

But they are not concerned a bit

Cause when they signed you, they thought you’d make a hit

Cause of who you were affiliated with, and all that bullshit

Frustrations.

All these rules and regulations

Just so you can have your shit heard by the nation

And be patient

Cause by the time they find a lead release, your shit is ancient

You think they’re working your album?

You’re mistaken

And if you flop, you get dropped

Cause you ain’t the star.

You didn’t go pop

Just straight up hip-hop.

Time to get a mop

Cause without no promotion, of course sales drop

Peep the break down: If tapes cost ($)10

You’ll probaably only get to see a dollar in the end

That you cannot spend.

Cause your budget gets recouped

So you never get cash unless your record is «Shoop.»

You better hope you get shows, which will not happen

If you don’t have a record that’s the main attraction

Even if you sell a million, you’ll get burned

Cause they keep half your cash just in case of returns

For a while, you wonder why rappers don’t smile

Cause to them, you’re not an artist.

You’re just another file

Another nigga used to make another buck

They don’t give a fuck.

And if your shit don’t blow up, tough

But the star gets both promotion and devotion

From the whole fucking staff.

At you, they laugh

The star probably don’t know that he the house nigga

Thinking he bigger cause he’s the, pick of the litter

These lebels think backwards.

They push the acts that need it the least

So they can get all the money they can when it’s released

They take you to a restarant for a feast

And then expect you to pck up the check?

That’s why I give props to niggas who is independent:

Cause they make they own money, plus decide how to spend it

Splendid.And lets end it

And don’t get offended

The slave master watching over you

Always trying to tell you what the fuck to do

The slave master watching over you

But ain’t nothing gonna stop me and my crew

Hieroglyphics!