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r a the rugged man - every record label sucks dick lyrics

every record label sucks d-ck [x4]
every record label, (every record label)
they suck d-ck! (suck d-ck!)
f-ck the new clothes, sport sh-tty jeans, f-ck the limousines
when the ho schemes you end up with no beans
there’s only 50, 000 heads that are true to this
the rest are clueless to what real hiphop music is
plus the labels think that artists are pathetic, i don’t sweat it
if they take the credit i will send them to the medic
the industry will gas your head up, you ain’t sh-t to them, don’t get fed up
‘cuz when you’re down and out they won’t help you get up
they sit around creating gimmicks, sky’s the limit, but to him it’s
a&r men act like schizophrenics
f-ck the negative reviews, i sing the blues
‘cuz if i blow up i still lose
now how can the musicians be the scholars
when they’re making less than four percent of six dollars?
most of the kids that kick a rap just don’t deserve opinions, acting like critics
looking like richard simmons, now they’re sporting timberlands
and i ain’t trying to be accepted, but it’s hectic
when you try to sell you records and your record label don’t respect it
now all these promotional stunts gets me emotional
not hospitable, i’ll never recoup so it’s not profitable
and i can end up as white trash living in a trailer park
eating tuna fish with my cheez whiz
“so how you’d get your job in the black music department?”
since i was growing up that’s where my heart went
i won’t be going out like kurt cobain, or tattoo
“da plane, da plane!”
jibba jibba jib
shane!
so if my sales don’t exceed the expectations
my relation-ships will be uzi clips and decapitations
‘cuz the fact is, technically, i need a vasectomy
no pregnancy, kids got the tendency to be sweating me
so do your own! them sc-mbags is making moneybags
in the meantime, your karl kanis turn to rags
‘cuz labels don’t know sh-tty rappers from any rappers
so listen rappers, they only know how to pinch a penny, rappers
i end up bankrupt and penniless, while you remain the rich man
my fist is up your -ss to rip your lips off
this ain’t the rock and roll era, so how could you know what’s worse or better?
chilling in your polyester sweater
a big advancement doesn’t make the move the wisest
‘cuz def jam offered me more loot than jive did
and the executives at labels, they about equal to mcdonald’s workers
they all down to jerk us, trying to keep us poor on purpose
they expect that respect that they don’t give, so don’t think that it’s negative
if you don’t want to let a record executive live
now pretty b-tches wind up giving up they b-tts
but i’m used to busting nuts in stank perverted sl-ts
just the thought of getting signed, you m-st-rb-t-d
can’t you see the industry is gold-plated?
“he sounds like ice cube, let’s sign him!
he sounds like onyx, let’s sign him!
he sounds like that sh-t that’s h-tting, let’s sign him!”
i’d be biting people and spitting blood at the entire music industry

- r a the rugged man lyrics

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