Why?

I'm so sick and tired of modern rap I'm going crazy
There's no rainy days no more, only blue skies and daisies
Nobody writing no more, rappers are getting lazy
Too much focus on partying, no one amaze me
In a very long time, records only seem to repeat
The same speech: Pussy, money, weed, there is no more discrete
Puns mixed in between two neat simile's
No more heat through the speakers when rappers hop on the beat
Rappers rapping about new motherfucking dance moves
Trying to trend on twitter, hoping to advance to
Facebook and Vine to claim and gain fame, it ain't the same
As back in the day, it's a shame to even call it the rap game

Listening to trap thinking, at least they try
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
When they hop on the beat, all they do is lie
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
Ghost writers run the game, but rappers still deny
Then play it off like it's visions from they eyes
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
Fake rappers are signed, I'm just wondering Why?

Most of these so-called rappers are just fucking pussies
There's no beefs no more, no one being pushy
And creating competition for the top position
No one's mission is to be the best, there's no ambition
In rapper's vision, they content livin' in the condition
They have been given, it's the end of their expedition
Once they make it big, they've got everything they've ever wanted
So they let their game start rustin' as they get blunted
Every night, suddenly, they went from somethin' down to nothin'
Music is punted and matters less, they not huntin'
To get better, they ain't staying up all night, they don't treasure
Rap for rap, cause they're the center of attention when they enter
So they feel no pressure to sever the mic with clever
Bars and weather the lesser MC's, they enjoy the pleasure
Rap brings when you're famous, they'll never show the same effort
But I got bags under my eyes like I underlined the letter
Hard on my grind, writin' rhymes, my design is fine
But then I find rappers lyin' saying they wrote each line
I just sigh cause I try so hard to define myself inside
These lines, they grind, get signed, and sellout, I just wonder Why?

Listening to trap thinking, at least they try
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
When they hop on the beat, all they do is lie
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
Ghost writers run the game, but rappers still deny
Then play it off like it's visions from they eyes
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
Fake rappers are signed, I'm just wondering Why?

Most rappers won't take what I say serious
Sayin, "Oh this dumb white kid's probably delerious
From all the drugs he does and thinks he's imperious
Telling us we fake and pussy, he ain't got experience"
But I ain't famous, don't need to be to see the destruction
Done to the game over the years, it seems the reduction
May be too far for reconstruction to make production
Function like it was in the past, where only real rappers
Mattered Fake rappers made laughter, each rapper tried to master
Rap, now the focus for rappers is getting their pockets fatter
And they are, but their passion towards music is dying
They stopped climbing, no more rising, no more supplying
What they rhyming, instead they buying 'em and denying
It's ghost wrote ~ I guess entertainment means blatantly lying ~
And I know there's still real rappers not just rapping for paper
Yea, they make less money, but at least they ain't fakers

Listening to trap thinking, at least they try
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
When they hop on the beat, all they do is lie
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
Ghost writers run the game, but rappers still deny
Then play it off like it's visions from they eyes
And I'm just sitting here, wondering, Why?
Fake rappers are signed, I'm just wondering Why?