about
"The music industry and new media have become offensively incestuous and corny. We need to define a new underground completely removed from the machine. I have never been to a studio. I recorded this EP in my Brooklyn bedroom using only a laptop, a Plantronics headset, and a freeware four-track recorder program developed in 1996 (which, coincidentally, was also one of the greatest years in terms of hip-hop's maturation and contribution to culture). This EP is pure and organic; no marketing or tricknology. I don't want any money. I don't want any accolades. This is for me, and for the culture. Share it if you feel it and are so inclined. Bless."
- Mr. Day Job
lyrics
LYRICS:
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a brooklyn boy with a southern drawl / just hopin' you fixin' to listen to what I'm about to tell yall / was walking through my hood one day / saw cats fightin' who ain't from 'round my / GOT DAMB, MAN! / I guess I gotta break it up / took an elbow to the gut, fu*k it, suck it up / maan, it wasn't always like this / I think thats why I had to rap & write this / and make it my opus / iron bars on the windows / you cant saw through 'em / can't your neightbor nowadays even if you know him / I'm a poet like edgar allen, an urban griot / fuck a feature on your album / I'm coming out SOLO / I ain't competing with yall anyway / when I spit, I compete with baldwin & hemingway / what up von pea, donwill my man / what up fresh daily, specboogie, & che grand / brooklyn holding shit down proper / this bitch go hard and nig*a you cant stop her / dont try / this is profound prose / and yall just posers, I spit harder than the white yall snort up your noses / try and test me / oshun blesses me / she inspires my allegory & poetry / I teach akashic principles / chillin' with my saudi queen with wide hips & deep dimples / yea I'm brooklyn to the bone gristle / and I'm coming at your neck like you the gaza strip and I'm a scud missle / dammit if I hear another rapper say YOLO / I'm pull my hair out / and it's already shaved low / no thank you, based god / thank you, based day job / if yall keep retweetin', I'ma keep makin' your head nod / word to my aquarian bredren / word to the master teachers sending us lessons / ayo don said spit on this shit, so I gotta hawk a loogie all on it, I'm on it, got dammit / ain't no hooks on my shit / 'cause I'm a true poet not a rapper / and I aint trynna sell it, that's it / happy fathers day to the mothers who played that role / both parents still together and I'm 30 years / humduillah.
credits
license