RDNY

(I'm recording an album here tonight. Why I'm recording it, I have no idea. It's going to be a giveaway album, that's what it's going to be. My friends say: give me an album. I say to them: Why don't you buy an album? Me? Buy your album? Check it out.)

'88 was the year, I strayed away from the square
My sister got my N.W.A tape from Sears
'Cause I was underage and the C.I.A feared
If the music hit the burbs it would contaminate our ears
More restricted, more I listened and became aware
Imitated with my peers, changed my gear, shaved my hair
Made 'em scared like O'Shea, I O.J., my race in the mirror
A video of five cops in L.A. was 'in'

Rodney, (Yo!)
They in the streets saying: Rodney
They in the streets saying: Rodney
They in the streets saying: Rodney
They in the streets saying: Rodney

I got cheap, outdated gear and my samples ain't cleared
I don't give a fuck how much you make in a year! (Yeah!)
This ain't a meal-ticket, I make my own plate here
Say Grace, rig the bass, wash my own plate here
You living off the bait, and played it safe: your career
Afraid some real shit will make teenagers disappear
Cater to what they say, yeah, entertain 'em, make 'em cheer
I'm a player, instigator, pointing fingers at a vacant chair
Wear the same gear like you came in a pair
Now, everybody's got shades, tattoos and the same beard
Jaded players complain the game ain't fair
On a campaign to smear until the champagne is shared
Leaving broken glass everywhere, pissing in the same stairs
For me, it's always been empty rent and black waiters here
Blank stares who want Edelweiss, and snares
I resist to make affairs, who want raised fists in the air

For Rodney
They in the streets saying: Rodney
They in the streets saying: Rodney
They in the streets saying: Rodney
They in the streets saying: Rodney

AK spray in your face like yeah, say: 'Yeah!'
With your arms raised, palms facing the air
This ain't Shakespeare, this is rage let out the cage
With grey hair. Lifting weights, serving eight years
Fuck the fame, I want my name to appear like a stain on your gear
Like spray paint on what they claim is theirs
In your face like an inmate, from 'scared straight' to 'go hard'
Like lame bear with plastic face gear
On stage staring at my greatest fears, facing the mirror like a
Grey-haired Joe Frazier-stares, got the face
I called him ape, degraded him for years
Now that face doesn't say shit, just shakes in the chair
Patience is worth the wait, the pain and the tears
Still bitter, I whisper: 'checkmate' in his ear
Fans at the show get the van-go, razor blade in the air
Comes free with the CD, fuck the tape care
(take care, take care, take care, take care)

Fans at the show get the van-go, razor blade in the ear
Comes free with the CD, now fuck off and take care

(Produced my own rhymes, produced my own shit.)
(I paid my dues now you can't tell me nothing.)

(When you're really prolific, you have material coming all the time)