sell out

To many mutha fuckas anymore, aint got shit to say.
Slobberin n druelin over themselves, jus tryin to make their name.
Sellin out to the game talkin what's already been said before.
Thinkin the sos gives respect when it knocks on ur fuckin door.
All I hear is beats bumpin wit weak azz lyrics, wit no vibe.
Talkin bout what u couldnt get before, cuz ur weak in ya silly rhymes.
Tap out like u did for the loot, buyin ya fames Hancock gift.
Ur a disgrace to the industry that made way for u to spit b.s.?
Where's ya head at boy, cuz that labels behind ya back, ownin u.
Only playin ur shit when u get a hit, hell there's ur proof.
Step away n find a use for ur vocals to come to life.
Ur skills come down to a pencil scribblin out thoughts outta ur empty mind.
Written for the ignorant confusions head to Bob.
Yous a sell out in so many words wit a wet fuse to ur boomless bomb.
Lemme break it down for u n ur jive azz turkey so called fans.
U ain't shit when ur depth is as bout as shallow as u r as a man.
What u don't recognise is ur puttin urself on the endless hit list.
Yet somehow u think what ur deliverin is the next best thing. Now ain't that some shit!