Politics (Radio) - Tonedeff

Oh mercy, mercy me.

At this point of my career I should already be on my third CD/

But every turn of the way has been met with adversity/

But Im cursed, it seems, and I been disserviced purposely/

And its herbs like these, thatve got my blood boiling to the third degree/

And Im nervously avoiding this urge to just burst and scream/

Feeling the thirst for revenge!

I can no longer pretend/

That mentally I wont be plummeting off the deep end/

Im desperately seeking these trendy motherfuckers,

Just so I can teach them never to speak on any of us/

Theres something you wanna say?

Get that other rappers cock out your throat!

No wonder hes been coming out your

face/

Son, never doubt The Plague, cause we infect against even the best/

medicines and vaccines, sedatives and bactrine/

Im fed up with the rap scene/

As Im Dealing with an amount of politics that would even give the president bad

dreams/

Every thing you see and hear was paid for/

So, dont try to discredit me, cause my shit isnt played more/

Just imagine having to wait, bored, at the stage door/

Cause nothing aches worse than a name on the marquis when it aint yours/

And youre trying desperately to make noise, but all you gets hate,

From biased record pools thatll chart anything for their next crate/

Or elitist DJs that only spin vinyl go get pressed!/

But give em a Nas exclusive MP3 and theyll play the shit dead.

These vicious double-standards can be seen in many arenas of the game/

From radio burn to video screens, the shits the same/

From Magazines to mix DJs You give em the green, they give the OK

Cause niggas are greedy leading the race, they sell you a dream and spit in

your face/

And it isnt easy to look away, when youre focused on your Budden career/

Pumped up with potential, but you cant fire nothing from here/

Need anything done?

Then you gotta do it yourself with no help/

When you make on your own?

Then everyone shows to share the whole wealth.

But, Oh well Another day in a cold hell.

When everyone riding your coattails are the same cats thatll pray your record

dont sell/

I wont settle for NO REMARKS about room for improvement/

When you boo at QN5 and refuse to review the music/

Bitch, youre fronting on the future, stop watching your back and face forward/

Reviewers best to listen to this like they paid for it/

Cause, what the fuck?!

Do I need to get shot to get props?

Do you need talent?

I guess not but with drug money and a guest spot/

You can spend lots on a track from the producer of the month/

And thatll induce you with the buzz, thatll get you news-scoops and the pub/

But Buddy, Im flat broke.

So on that note, Ill say goodbye to articles/

Bookings for college shows, distribution pushing us hard for dough/

Then you wondering why youre seeing the same niggas over and over/

The more original the flow, then, the colder the shoulder/

The same reason you cant stand that verse you heards/

The same reason you know it word for word.

Dog, its Politics.

My patience is drifting/

Cause Im in no political position or famous enough to state my opinion/

Of this game and its minions, Im staying silent and numb/

Cause you cant put your foot in your mouth or swallow your words while youre

biting your tongue/

So with nice-guy reluctance, Im fighting my grudges/

And its hard to be polite with others when youd rather take a knife to fuckers/

Heres my final shot at diplomacy believe this/

Swing for your third strike, Im calling you out on the remix/

I cant breath

And I cant see

And I cant move

Cause Im sick and tired of these politics

I cant sleep

And I cant think

And I cant live

Cause Im sick and tired of these politics.