lirik lagu old man lyrical treachery – culture power45
culture power45 ft. empee and milk – “old man lyrical treachery”
[emcee(s): empee and milk]
[producer(s): cool d (aka dion brown)]
[scratches: [?]]
[verse 1: empee]
old man trouble. watch your back—i’m flexing
wrecking any preconceived notions that you had about
a middle-aged rapper, producer, 9-to-5 paper-
-stacker. young whippersnapper? smack him
chip off the old block, my dad was some mess
when he had me. i had no choice but to be like him
take care of my family just like him
raise h-ll in their life just like him
he told me, “hip hop will never last.” now i
can laugh, but, back then, i didn’t find that too funny
but what i see nowadays, it kind of has me wondering
to h-ll with it. i did what i did with it. now i’ma keep on
doing it for the love of it ‘til i find other
avenues to send my music through. no, i’m not
twenty-two, but if i’m dope, why should that matter to you?
mind your business. i run this. older guys rock harder
than the young ones (yep). generations split
like it’s always done (yep). just wait until you see the next
one (yep). they’re sagging now, but, later on, they’ll be
the old ones, wondering where the time has gone (yep)
empee’s in the zone, and i’ma stay
busting ‘til my last breath is gone
(“imagine that”)
and i’ma stay busting ‘til my last breath is gone
[hook: samples with scratches by [?]]
“imagine that” – sample from pusha t – “crutches, crosses, caskets” (x2)
[verse 2: milk]
old man lyrical treachery, i forgot more than you know
tricks, you gon’ receive everything except kudos
literary judo, for me, the rare juju
i’m never outwitted—my -rs-nal too buku
loose cannon, loose screws, “things fall apart”—i refuse to
“atomic dog,” a hundred-and-twenty ways to nuke you
holy war—god bless your soul. desmond tutu
crucified since the mid-90’s—look what the babies grew to
something that doesn’t grow old, broken wings to grow on
what a world to grow in. so young, saying, “so long”
they say, “hip hop is dead—she gone. you don’t ball down”
let the force grip the mic, knuckle spit, megas fall down
i’ve been rhyming in themes since the ashy-washed jeans
the dookie ropes, fat shoestrings, and four figurines
figure four leg-lock going to snap a funny bone
‘til your confidence leave like gold-diggers when the money gone
return of the mac 10, gun smoke, monster dealing justice
freedom and equality, build the future for the children
the past ugly enough and the present’s just as ugly. you ain’t
hip to the fact? i’ll put you on like pressure
a baboon on the mic spit on behalf of the good
when propaganda, brainwashing overhead for the hood
you want some dirt? your neighbor nasty. roaches in the ashtray
rhyme criminal behind bars—felony cl-ss a
[hook: samples with scratches by [?]]
“old n-ggas slapping young n-ggas” – sample from pusha t – “crutches, crosses, caskets” (x3)
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