Lyrics Cage – Haterama
Text:
So many faggots to swing the ax at
Who do I shoot first?
Answer when I make this dead cow feel my boots hurt
Whoever’s standin’ as part of the human pavement
Quitters advance, tryin’ to rap, the movement’s faded
Kill like I stuck it in shit
Sold ya’ll a bucket of shit
Even Bobbito said, «Fuck it I quit!»
KCR shit me out but you knew that
Reflect your crew back, to that late-’90s beat
You shouldn’t eschew that
The biggest pop star in the world threw dirt in my engine
But when I say his name I look like Royce tryin’ to get attention
I know the ledge, 110 stories you been sour
The only Boston hits in New York was the Twin Towers
It’s only right my raps reflect evil
My only wish: to trade places with them 3, 000 dead people
Hindsight Halloween you begged to open up
Daddy’s Lex, coked it up, on stage chokin’ up
Dropped the mic and left
Cage arrived a hour later
Cause the opening acts bore me, epecially them coward haters
Eight Jack and Cokes, 7L’s gettin’ lucky
Get to the side of the stage, these groupies tryin’ to touch me
That’s a snuff, no that’s a hug, my arm’s small
Richie Rich got the nerve to steal on me for pub?
What was that? Bugs hit windshields harder than that
Wasted loot on rap, coulda been through Harvard and back
I know you’re salty I sold more in Beantown
You’re obscene, now you’re wasting all your label’s cream now
Kill like I stuck it in shit
Sold ya’ll a bucket of shit
Even Bobbito said, «Fuck it I quit!»
KCR shit me out but you knew that
Reflect your crew back, to that late-’90s beat
You shouldn’t eschew that
The biggest pop star in the world threw dirt in my engine
But when I say his name I look like Royce tryin’ to get attention
I know the ledge, 110 stories you been sour
The only Boston hits in New York was the Twin Towers
It’s only right my raps reflect evil
My only wish: to trade places with them 3, 000 dead people
Hindsight Halloween you begged to open up
Daddy’s Lex, coked it up, on stage chokin’ up
Dropped the mic and left
Cage arrived a hour later
Cause the opening acts bore me, epecially them coward haters
Eight Jack and Cokes, 7L’s gettin’ lucky
Get to the side of the stage, these groupies tryin’ to touch me
That’s a snuff, no that’s a hug, my arm’s small
Richie Rich got the nerve to steal on me for pub?
What was that? Bugs hit windshields harder than that
Wasted loot on rap, coulda been through Harvard and back
I know you’re salty I sold more in Beantown
You’re obscene, now you’re wasting all your label’s cream now
Trying to get violent, but gay is gay
The same day New Yorkers was on mourning JMJ
You got no respect, why give it? You don’t get it
What toy-ass crew can’t beat up paramedics
Too many cards showing, do you know how to play the game?
Throwin’ up consecutive bricks like it’s your label’s name
Oops, I guess it is, fuckin’ stick to the kegs
Your team probably front like they ain’t on my dick in your face
End your career? shit ain’t even started
Clean up your style
Help out Lif, he holdin’ your whole scene up
You see the sweat on his face, that’s all
I know you ain’t sweat like that since you sent El-P a demo
And his slang is outdated like, «Look I’m butter now»
You fatherfuckers still drown in my watered down
True, me and your producer got a past beef
Either his girl sucked my dick or I wouldn’t rock to his trash beats
BOAST: look girls, your health’s vital
Cop the Nighthawks album, bitches, Celph Titled
Played your boys idle
Every tonight’ll seem like you and the cops are tight
Shoot up your ankles cause your socks are white
Go teach your pops to fight
The same day New Yorkers was on mourning JMJ
You got no respect, why give it? You don’t get it
What toy-ass crew can’t beat up paramedics
Too many cards showing, do you know how to play the game?
Throwin’ up consecutive bricks like it’s your label’s name
Oops, I guess it is, fuckin’ stick to the kegs
Your team probably front like they ain’t on my dick in your face
End your career? shit ain’t even started
Clean up your style
Help out Lif, he holdin’ your whole scene up
You see the sweat on his face, that’s all
I know you ain’t sweat like that since you sent El-P a demo
And his slang is outdated like, «Look I’m butter now»
You fatherfuckers still drown in my watered down
True, me and your producer got a past beef
Either his girl sucked my dick or I wouldn’t rock to his trash beats
BOAST: look girls, your health’s vital
Cop the Nighthawks album, bitches, Celph Titled
Played your boys idle
Every tonight’ll seem like you and the cops are tight
Shoot up your ankles cause your socks are white
Go teach your pops to fight
