Letra They dont know Styles Of Beyond

They dont know

Machine Shop...Invasion!
Shout out all my people up at Warner Brothers
Naim, Daniel, Tick...Tom Whalley, what up?
All my Machine Shop Staff, Dave Parker, Whitney

Put any other crew in his place
I could tell ‘em how much I love it ‘til I’m blue in the face
But they don’t know, swimming in the surface of a tough gutter
Smothered by the pillowcase, serving in the Dust Brothers
Dangling my keys to apartments
Fell short, my only furniture was carpet
And Hell’s torch seemed to be the light of my future
An echo in my head saying ‘I might as well shoot ya!’
Soul for profit, ghosts and goblins
I wanna croak, or overdose on Klonopins
My bones malnourished like they able to snap
And while I’m scraping them scraps, the label collapsed
Dough shit...getting ambushed by the lynch mob
And I don’t have a choice but to stick with a temp job
Count pages as days go slow
Thinking to myself ‘Damn!’ They don’t know...

“Check out the story...
It’s on now
Survival got me buggin, but I’m alive
Check out the story...
Make a quick money grip, 'fore yo ass is out”

Where the check is, what’s for breakfast
Lunch out of the question, a buck we stretch it
Listen to the growl, the pain’s relentless
All the change in my couch ain’t enough to pay rent with
I wanna get the mailman, and shatter his jaw
What kind of punk brings bills with a stack of catalogs?
The irony’s insane, entirely twisted
Got the fly gold chain, but no pot to piss in
What a shame, why do we rhyme, the game is fixed
The only people getting paid is the label--Shit
The slavery ship has landed, it’s not just blacks now
‘Cuz anybody that raps, gets shackled
One style fits all, you wish you signed that big deal
But you don’t see a dime, until you sell like six mil
Now you can do big things but straight up though
Go and ask ‘em where your money’s at...they don’t know

“Check out the story...
It’s on now
Survival got me buggin, but I’m alive
Check out the story...
Make a quick money grip, 'fore yo ass is out”