[Intro:]
Yeah, niggas want to talk about this rap shit
Niggas want to talk about this money
About these cars, these homes, these labels
Clothes, sneakers, big money shit
Now everybody trying to get rich
Now get rich niggas, fuck it.
[Verse 1:]
Some rap pioneers be them crackheads
When they speak, you see missin' teeth
Silver chain with a silver piece
Niggas your grandfather's age, they pants still hangin' down they legs, talkin' about they ain't paid
And they hate you, ‘cause they say you ain't pay dues
And Slyvia Robinson was stealin' and robbin' them
I feel it's a problem we gotta resolve
Hip-Hop been dead, we the reason it died
Wasn't Sylvia's fault or because MC's skills are lost
It's because we can't see ourselves as the boss
Deep-rooted through slavery, self-hatred
The Jewish stick together, friends in high places
We on some low level shit, we don't want niggas to ever win
See, everybody got a label
Everybody's a rapper, but few flow fatal
It's fucked up, it all started from two turntables.
[Hook:]
When they crown you and you rise up to your position
Carry on tradition
When they knight you, then you go to fight
Go to war, don't petition, carry on tradition
Carry on tradition, carry on, ca-carry on, carry on tradition
Carry On Tradition
When you rep what we rep, then carry on tradition.
[Verse 2:]
Some of these new rappers got their caps flipped backwards
With their fingers intertwined in some gang-sign madness
I got an exam, let's see if y'all pass it
Let's see who can quote a Daddy Kane line the fastest
Some of you new rappers, I don't understand your code
You have your man shoot you, like in that Sopranos episode
Do anythin' to get in the game, mixtapes
You spit hate against bosses; hungry fucks are moraless
You should be tossed in a pit full of unfortunate vocalists
Niggas, I could've wrote your shit
I had off-time, was bored with this
I could've made my double-LP
Just by samplin' different parts of Nautilus
Still came five on the charts with zero audience
The lane was open and y'all was droppin' that garbage shit
Y'all got awards for your bricks – it got good to ya
You started tellin' them bigger dogs to call it quits?! WHAT?
[Hook]
[Verse 3:]
Now niggas got the studio poppin', it's mad clearer
Engineers got his earplugs and still hear us
The live-in-the-park sound versus the studio state of art sound. We on the charts now
From British Walkers and Argyles
Look at us rap stars now, with our black cars now
Fortune 500 listed, brunches, sip Cipriani's
Sippin', blunted, with rich white guys around me
Thick white girls around me, Chinese lined up
Because I'm what? Every dime lust
We used to be a ghetto secret; can't make my mind up
If I want that or the whole world to peep it
Now carry on tradition
Fuck a bum wack rapper makin' his career out of dissin'
Peace to the strugglin' artists and dead one's gone, we miss 'em. I promise I carry on tradition.
[Hook]
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