Machete
• Written by RookE
RookE's Notes
In response to J Cole's Fire Squad verse 3, and it's surrounding interviews.
Now I can't get on Vlad TV and talk some shit bout J Cole,
But I can sure as shit download and kill this instrumental,
So you were right about one thing, I did come 'snatch your sound,'
But if Iggy's got you shook and you're nowhere to be found,
You'd better brace yourself for the real Southern Hemisphere,
You don't know where I'm from so I'm the unknown that you fear,
Stick my foreign nose right in the middle of the race war,
That's all up in your head, quit taking pot shots and rap more,
This the shit you yell when you up against the firing squad,
I wanna see you flinch every time you hear the gunshot,
I think maybe you should get your fire squad to drop some more fire,
So I can suck the culture out like a whitewash vampire,
Nah fuck that, if you think hip-hop's just for your daddy's race,
Let's not forget you ain't the guy to call out a birthplace,
Or shit we can't control, but there is some things we can choose,
Did your mum play you hip-hop, or did you pick that up in school,
Cos the way I understand it is you weren't born with a mic,
This is nature versus nurture, see since I was just a tyke,
I never found my music, couldn't find the right type to suit me,
To music I was indifferent, until I heard a dope MC,
Killing bars without drawing breath, nobody else liked this,
Where I was born, but there I was listening - felt like the first kiss,
'Cos I loved what I found and I found what I love, one year,
To educate myself, trace the roots of hip hop, blues to here,
Eighty years from Blind Lemon Jefferson to Kanye West,
That's why these countrymen got me so fucking unimpressed,
That's why I can't really blame Cole for giving Iggy shit,
Ain't no artists down here respect the culture that was built,
On the backs of the greats, OG's who never even got to see,
Hip-hop Grammy awards, sold out shows in Mississippi,
A track from Oakland's basement reach a kid in Fiji,
Yeah she's fucking wack, but you shouldn't be scared about Iggy,
Or Macklemore for that matter,
'Cos they ain't even rappers;
Just some pop shit popping off,
While real hip-hop-heads just scoff,
And play that Freddie Gibbs,
Joey Bada$$ for the kids,
So take a break from Twitter,
And continue to litter,
The airwaves.
Okay,
I got that out of the way,
And shit, since I'm here to stay,
Let me introduce the kid,
Bust open the lid,
Of this Pandora's box,
Double check your locks,
Like I did every night in Suva City,
Just tryna stop the break-ins, tell you that shit ain't pretty,
In the dead of night when you wake up to the panicked shouts,
Hearts already pounding before you know what it's about,
Outside my window, machete's glisten in the moonlight,
Got that adrenaline ready for me to fight or flight,
My mum run inside, eyes wide, they must have just missed her,
Then I hear the shout: "Take anything, just don't touch my sister!"
Damn.
Feedback & Comments
About the Artist
RookE
Member since April 27 2014