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Dead Prez

Hip Hop

Dead Prez is a critically acclaimed underground political hip hop duo of stic.man and M-1. They are largely known for their hard-hitting style combined with Socialist and pan-Africanist lyrics, focusing on revolution, institutional racism, critical pedagogy, police, capitalism, education in the United States, prison systems, religion, activism against governmental repression, and corporate control over the media, especially hip-hop record labels. Dead Prez made their stance clear on their first album, declaring on the lead song, "I'm a African" that the group is "somewhere between N.W.A. and P.E." Wikipedia

Dead Prez - Hip Hop

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Uh, uh, uh, 1-2, 1-2 Uh, uh, 1-2, 1-2, uh, uh All my dogs...		(Hook) It's bigger than..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip.. It's bigger than..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip..hop..hip-hop
(M1) Uh, one thing 'bout music when it hit you feel no pain White folks say it controls yo' brain I know better than that, that's game And we ready for that - two soldiers head of the pack Matter of fact, who got the gat? And where my army at? Rather attack and not react Back to beats, it don't reflect on how many records get sold On sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll Whether your project's put on hold In the real world; these just people with ideas They just like me and you when the smoke and camera disappear Against the real world echos It's bigger than all these fake-ass records When po' folks got the millions and my woman's disrespected If you check 1-2, my word of advice to you is just relax Just do what you got to do; if that don't work, then kick the facts If you a fighter, rider, biter, flame-ignitor, crowd-exciter Or you wanna jus' get high, then just say it But then if you a liar-liar, pants on fire, wolf-crier, agent wit' a wire I'm gon' know it when I play it		(Hook)
(stic.man) Uh, who shot Biggie Smalls? If we don't get them, they gon' get us all I'm down for runnin' up on them crackers in they city hall We ride for y'all - all my dogs stay real Nigga, don't think these record deals gon' feed your seeds And pay your bills, because they not MCs get a little bit of love and think they hot Talkin' 'bout how much money they got; all y'all records sound the same I'm sick of that fake thug, R&B-rap scenario, all day on the radio Same scenes in the video, monotonous material Y'all don't here me though These record labels slang our tapes like dope You can be next in line and signed; and still be writing rhymes and broke You would rather have a Lexus? or justice? a dream? or some substance? A Beamer? a necklace? or freedom? Still a nigga like me don't playa-hate, I just stay awake This real hip-hop; and it don't stop 'til we get the po-po off the block They call it...		(Hook 2x)
(Repeat 6x) D.P.'s got that crazy shit We keep it crunked-up, John Blazed and shit		("They call it, call it, call it" -> stic.man) ("Fake, fake, fake records" -> M1)