A Message from Poet - Madlib, Sam Baker

My back is behind the brick wall

I got a mad truck two inches from my face

(Uh-huh, uh-huh, oh yeah, yeah)

It must be so easy, just turn around and go

Jump all the wires, hookers and hang-ups, and you’re home free

(Uh-huh, uh-huh, oh yeah, yeah)

Part of the natural order, made to order by your forever clever mind

Constantly rejecting your things you no longer need to be protected

Ayo, Summerjam live, Jigga goin' at Nas

Yo, what’s goin' on with these guys

Next thing you know, Nas goin' at Jay

Ether to the dome tried to blow him away

Motherfuckers wanna make it to some Queensbridge Marcy shit

Believe me, New York, we don’t wanna spark this shit

We still rebuildin', these women and children

The whole shit will turn to Ground Zero if we start illin'

Look at Foxy and Kim, what’s wrong with them

Both of them platinum, used to be bitches

Now they wanna give each other stitches, damn

Is that how it is, when niggas get riches

You got 50 with Ja, 50 with Jay

50 with anybody that get in 50 way

G-Unit, Jadakiss and Beanie

That’s a ill one believe me

They should take it to T. V

Cam’ron and Esco who got the best flow

DMX, whoa, goin' at ya little bro'

And the whole Roc-A-Fella wanna get at Jaz-O

Eminem, come on now that’s a no-no

Disrespectin' your moms we don’t play that shit, yo

Even as a crack fiend mama, black queen mama

You heard 2Pac and that’s the king of drama

Dr. Dre should’ve told ya

But he to busy goin' at Jermaine Dupri to show ya

But Blaq Poet pull a trigger

We know you nice, forget you white just rep it right nigga

I look over at the westside

I see Snoop, Suge, Xzibit 'bout to collide

And make some real nigga wanna cry

It’s like niggas forgot about Pac and B-I

The only way to settle this;

battle it out

And leave the gats at the house

All these niggas is rich

Nobody wanna die, nobody really wanna kill eachother

Everybody just need to fall back

Take your hands off of me, I know what I’m doing

My baby left me, I don’t feel like doing

Get your hands off me I’m gonna call the cops

Could you pass me my rum and coke on the —

Hey, my rum and coke, I paid for it

Can ya, can ya get it —

Ten, nine, eight