Lupe Fiasco - Lupe Back Lyrics
Yield, to the forces of darknessI bring you the torches of our shitReinforced with hardness of wolverine'sArms with the harshness and overall sharpnessNow how far do the arms get?My nigga, from the stars to the starfishFrom the baby to the bombIt's a whole lot of light and a whole lot of armliftMy arms long, but I'm lawlessA strong arm, I can lift up all thisYou gon' have to build a bigger farm for usTo keep them wolves out of old macdonald barn, *****Yeah, team jacobWe're long armed, put my arms on a learEverytime I put my hands in the airWatch the throne as I dance in the chairThrow my crown in the crowd, hope it lands on the heirThe weak niggas like to pass interfereSpend a lot of lint over jams in the yearThat act like the man up in hereThat don't count when your only real fan is a mirrorThat's subliminal to any nigga that he feel he is tooBut you don't stand a chance, playaI am there, chi-town, fan of the bearsLove where they dance in the squareYeah, yankees too, but only cause granderson thereAnd now wears khaki pants on la breaWe all friends, why your man lookin' scared?Turning whiter than anderson hairCame out the garage like he saw a phantom in there, huhOh shit alert, louis clothesCallin women *****es, louboutin and gucci showsWell, I guess there goes my louis showsMore o shit, if your role model's a movie roleAnd if you live your life like it's a studioTalkin' to it's like we mics, a bunch of you ain't do befo'Electric fences for a urinalAlso keep a toaster in my jacuzzi, yoShock-a-zulu, call me wasalu iiOh shit, man these record labels prostitute youStrap them to sushi bars, and feed em lots of fuguCatch a bad pieceYou can stick that 360 between your asscheeksArtists let's mobilize and unionize like the athletesRadio is making our craft weakForced to repeat the same dumb shit that workOnly as hot as your last beatAnd rappers, they relating to that last pieceAlbum never leave they desk if you don't got no b.d.sSacrifice your publishin', they said you really need a hookAnd they ain't gon' pay you, said that you received a lookAnd what's stupid real, is what producers feelTwenty placements or you stuck in that producer dealAnd r&b chicks so get it the wildestAll they money goes to hairdressers and stylistsGotta keep up with that imageLabel lose they mind if they ever see a blemishProactiv impeals, airbrushers and trainersManagers suggest you ***** a nigga to be famous, huhBut it's all entertainmentWonder when cobain blew out his brains, did he blame it?And if those snakes in the industry helped him aim itStarted pressing up records before the bullet left the chamberI fight evil, everyday I'm livin'Rest in peace to men, women and the childrenAnd middle fingers to the pilgrims that killed 'emFriend of the people, happy thanksgiving
