The Source: Hip Hop Under Attack
 

Such Bullshit.

Hip Hop has been dead since about the time The Source became a fashion whore for the clothing industry....

Id say The Source is the source of the problem.

I mean honestly...I admit to shaking it as soon as 50 cent comes on but the dude says nothing signifigant nor anything not a cliche. Its even mocked in the fucking IN DA CLUB video when DRE and EMINEM are seen in scientific coats monitoring the whole video shoot. Its as if they are admitting that RAP is just a big production now and no longer about social change. A product to be sold not a story to be told.

Where art thou Public Enemy ?

I miss the old skool Beastie Boys. Those fucks were talking about guns and bitches WAY before any1 else did, lol.

Beasties are ok but different...not hip hop....

They started in Punk, and then absorbed hip hop and eventually alt rock. Their own shit...like Beck...cant classify....but definitely not pure hip hop.

When Hip Hop is illegal, only illegals will listen to Hip Hop!

Spread the word.

Nothing is underground anymore. It's all about the money.

no dr to the beasties (love em) .. but Lynard Skynard was singin about saturday night specials when mike d was sucking his mamma's dick.

i agree completely, however for some reason eminem strikes me as being different. He doesnt have 20lb gold chains around his neck, or flaunt a 15 story mansion, lol

You need to get your head examined......or.....ah nevermind
you´re lost anyway

DynaMite

Eminem is just Vanilla Ice for the new generation! :1orglaugh

I dont agree whatsoever.

His words are deep, to me anyway.

point proven....thanks

DynaMite :1orglaugh

Im going to kill you.

fuck off dynadick, go start trouble somewhere else.

well its just how me and my friends feel ... i mean i made a cd of his newest album and i havent taken it out of my player yet. been few months now.

well im off to work


ill debate this later, lol



have good day guys

Music executives have wet dreams at night fantasizing about consumers like you.

Oooeeeh tough talk homie....

It's alright, it's ok, I'm gonna make it anyway
I'm a make it, I'm a make it, I'm a make it...somehow

Verse 1:

Sometimes I just feel like, quitting, I still might
Why do I put up this fight, why do I still write?
Sometimes it's hard enough just dealing with real life
Sometimes I wanna jump on stage and just kill mic's
And show these people what my level of skill's like
But I'm still white, sometimes I just hate life
Something ain't right, hit the brake lights
Case of this stage fright, drawing a blank like:
'Uh, di-di-di-da, it ain't my fault'
Breaking eyeballs, my insides crawl
And I clam up, I just slam shut
I just can't do it, my whole manhood's
Just been stripped, I've just been ripped
So I must then get, on the bus then split
Man fuck this shit, yo, I'm going the fuck home
World on my shoulders as I run back to this 8 mile road

Chorus:

I'm a new man, I'm a make a new plan
Time for me to just stand up, and travel new land
Time to leave and just take matters into my own hands
Once I'm over these tracks man I'm a never look back (8 mile road)
And I'm gone, I know right where I'm going
Sorry Momma I'm grown, I must travel alone
Ain't gonna follow no footsteps, I'm making my own
Only way that I know how to escape from this 8 mile road

Verse 2:

Walking these train tracks, trying to regain back
The spirit I have before I go back to the same crap
To the same plant, in the same pants
Trying to chase rap, gotta move ASAP
And get a new plan, Momma's gotta new man
Poor little baby sister, she don't understand
Sits in front of the TV buries her nose in the pad
And just colors until the crayon get dull in her hand
While she colors her big brother and mother and dad
Ain't no telling what really goes on in her little head
Wish I could be the daddy that neither one of us had
But I keep running from something I never wanted so bad
Sometimes I get upset, cause I ain't blew up yet
It's like I grew up, but I ain't grown me two nuts yet
Don't got a rep, my step, don't got enough pep
The pressure's too much man I'm just trying to do what's best
And I try, sit alone and I cry, yo I won't tell no lie
Not a moment goes by, that I don't pray to the sky
Please I'm begging you God
Please don't let me be pigeonholed in no regular job
Yo I hope you can hear me homie wherever you are
Yo I'm telling you dog, I'm bailing this trailer tomorrow
Tell my mother I love her, kiss baby sister goodbye
Say whenever you need me baby I'm never too far
But yo I gotta get out there, the only way I know
And I'm a be back for you, the second that I blow
With everything I own, I'll make it on my own
Off to work I go, back to this 8 mile road

Repeat Chorus

Verse 3:

You got to live it to feel it, you didn't, you wouldn't get it
We'll see what the big deal is, why it wasn't and still is
To be walking this borderline of Detroit city limits
It's different in it's a certain significance, a certificate
Of authenticity, you'd never even see but it's everything to me
It's my credibility, you never seen, heard, smelt or met a real MC
Who's incredible up on the same pedestal as me
But yet, still unsigned, having a rough time
Sit on the porch with all my friends and kick dumb rhymes
Go to work and serve MC's in the lunch line
But when it comes crunch time, where do my punch lines go
Who must I show, to bust my flow, where must I go, who must I know
Or am I just another crab in the bucket
'Cos I ain't having no luck with this little rabbit so fuck it
Maybe I need a new outlet, I'm starting to doubt shit
I'm feeling a little skeptical who I hang out with
I look like a bum, yo my clothes ain't about shit
At the salvation army trying to salvage an outfit
And it's cold trying to travel this road
Plus I feel like I'm always stuck in this battling mode
My defenses are so up, one thing I don't want, is pity from no one, this city is no fun
There is no sun, and it's so dark
Sometimes I feel like I'm just being pulled apart
From each one of my limbs, by each one of my friends
It's enough to just make me wanna jump out of my skin (Aaah!)
Sometimes I feel like a robot, sometimes I just know not
What I'm doing I just blow, my head is a stove top
I just explode, the kettle gets so hot
Sometimes my mouth just overloads the acid I don't got
But I've learned, it's time for me to u-turn
Yo it only takes one time, for me to get burned
Ain't no calling her next time, I need a new girl
I can no longer play stupid or be immature
I got every ingredient all I need is the courage
Like I already got the beat all I need is the words
(Uh!) I got the urge, suddenly it's a surge
Suddenly a new burst of energy has occured
Time to show these free world leaders a three and the third
I am no longer scared now, I'm free as a bird
Then I turn and cross over the median curve
Hit the burbs and run and see it's a blur, an 8 mile road

Repeat Chorus

Dedicated to Detroits own homeboy [Labret] :1orglaugh :1orglaugh :1orglaugh

DynaMite

You only get one shot, don't miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo!

:1orglaugh :1orglaugh

he can rhyme in syncopation and has good producers, period. in interviews, his produces say - very passively - that they let marshall use his own ideas on maybe 1 or 2 songs per album. the rest are pro produced and let him use his 'edited' lyrics.

just look what happened to janet jackson's career pre and post jimmy jam and terry lewis ..

Who the fuck gives a shit about all this??

Music is a fuckin business. If you don't like the fact record execs pimp out the bullshit for the sheep to buy, then go play the pan flute in your backyard for your neighbors, and never sign a fuckin record deal.

:glugglug

Labret is upset because he thinks Eminem will choose you instead of him as his personal backstage fluffer. So next time don't show any love for the M&M or Labret will 'kill you'.

Avril Lavigne laughs at Eminem's lyrics :1orglaugh

whole fucking world has gone just flat out stupid. you've got a generation of people now in their thirties who live in some fantasy world created for them by rich black thugs and rich white businessmen.