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Poor Man's Dream (Maktub Remix)

by Mr. Day Job feat. @kendricklamar & @glctheism

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مكتب maktub: "it is written"

"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 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 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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'how you thirty years old and just decide to be a rapper now?' / 'how u got the nerve to question me and my divinity?' / I'm in the crib, phone off, you can't reach me / I'm studying alchemy and memorizing nietzsche / I roll it up so I can talk to the most high / then hop on a track for my atonement and testify / I ain't rapper, I'm a poet and a teacher / used to be a skeptic, now I'm a believer / my granny used to say, 'I think he gon be preacher' / when I meet her again, I'm just gon' greet her and grin / 'cause she was right and she saw it in me way back then / I had to wait till I was woke to confess my sins / yea, nigga, I'm up now / I know whats up now / the old me died / and I was reborn and purified / I'm rappin' from the pulpit / while you rappin' bout money & weed, hoes & cars, and yo' outfit / my eyes to sky, yall watchin' housewives / while these corporations watchin' us, controlling our lives / think about it / egypt built the pyramids / we built forts for commercialized prison bids / got bad credit but the FED can't even manage money / they credit score dropped too, we ain't dummies / watch 'em tap my phone, 'cause I'm speakin on true shit / fuck a patriot act / st. peter got my back / I don't want no money / I just want yall to listen. the IRS can kiss my ass, I'm a sovereign citizen / spittin' that real shit that's uplftin', word to the alchemist, maktub, it is written / love my mama & my sister / I love my dad, he in jail but he was still there to whoop me when I was bad / and thats straight from my heart chakra / I'm zulu black, and so proud / my name shoulda been shaka

amen... ashé... hamdulillah.

credits

released July 12, 2012

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Mr. Day Job Brooklyn, New York

A dilettante recording sounds in my bedroom.

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