Now here we go. Y'all gotta play this. Why? Cause the others are so scared to say this. Now tell me, what am I supposed to do about a sucker like you who ain't never paid dues? Slapper, hip-hopper, you're getting whacker. Your girl better step forward, just might jack her. Smack her like a gangsta, but I don't bang her. Gang suckers like you, for fickle champs, you don't deserve it. Hell naw! So take it off of your neck, cause god damn, you ain't coming correct. How about this? A sucker duck holding a mic, like Keith Swift says something just ain't right. Seems nowadays, everybody wanna be a rapper. Down with crews, but they ain't never paid dues. Suckers, perpetrators, playing hardcore punks. I bet you worked at a flower store. You know what eats me up the most? It's when a sucker just started and thinks he's high post. You ain't paying and doing your life, talking bout a new style. You know what you sound like? KRS, Chugga Ski, Kumo S1. Yelling on the mic like the name is Run. Used to be on when I bought a pair of leaves. Now all of a sudden, you're supposed to be an emcee. Yo, that's whack. It just ain't right. You only stood on one stage in your whole damn life. Now you want respect? Hey yo, you's a fool. Everybody wanna rap, but they ain't paid dues. Here we go. I can still remember way, way back in the days. The times me and Latin dreamed of getting paid. Standing outside, just pulling the jack. To earn a little money to drop a dope track. Back in the days, I drove a raggedy Dodge. Couldn't afford a studio, so we used a garage. I last used to *** a gang of Disco Brain. One turntable and a broken 808. My little brother Toombs and Frank, they hung around all night to make sure that the demo was tight. Didn't have an engineer, if you know what I mean. Uh-uh. A Latin did it all at the age of 16. Gifted, uplifted, I was mad as the Mack. Suckers had me playing the back. But thanks to Ice-T, I got my foot in the door. Now I'm a rockin' motherfucker. Sillin' ain't no more, we pay dues. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. I knew a brother who used to dress just like a faggot. Real tight jeans and boots and leather jackets. Homie as hell, he never came outside, cause every time I came around, he used to run and hide. Cool like a brat, had everything he wanted. And when he walked, he swept like a woman. Rode a pink bike, man, this sucker was solid. Had to be in before the street lights came on. Yo, just the other day, I turned my radio on. The Mack Attack kicked on a brand new song. I didn't know what it was, I never heard it before. But the record was smooth and hardcore. I said to myself, ayo, I gotta see this group. So I called up a Latin and the rest of the crew. Grabbed a nine with a hollow point tip. Stepped in a party with a gangsta left. Took a look at the stage and yo, what do you know? The same old faggot from a long time ago. From real tight jeans and a go-go boot. He went to Penitent's in a khaki suit. Now tell me, ain't this a blip? Somebody need to slap the perpetrator in the lip. Yesterday he was a mama boy, now he's rapping. Fooling the crowd because he got you all clapping and tapping. An example of what I'm trying to prove. A sucker like this who ain't never pay dues. To those who want to rap, I'm pertaining to you. Before you pick up a mic, you gotta pay dues. Let the story be told, that's the way it is. You got to pay your dues. Low profile, definitely pay the dues. WBC, DJ Latin, Frank, my little brother, DJ Krazy Tunes, Jazzy D. We in there, everybody pay their dues. Abra Kadabra, DJ Latin, we outta here. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah.