Music/Popular Culture

Even you like Hip-Hop

volume two

The Coup – Fat Cats, Bigga Fish

It’s almost 10 o’clock, see, I gotta ball of lint for property
So I slip my beanie on sloppily
And promenade out to take up a collection
I got game like I read the directions
I’m wishing that I had an automobile
As I feel the cold wind rush past
But let me state that I’m a hustler for real
So you know I got the stolen bus pass
Just as the bus pulls up and I step to the rear
This old lady look like she drank a 40 of fear
I see my old-school partner, said his brother got popped
Pay my respects, “can you ring the bell? We came to my stop”
The street light reflects off the piss on the ground
Which reflects off the hamburger sign that turns round
Which reflects off the chrome of the BMW
Which reflects off the fact that I am broke
Now what the fuck is new?
I need loot, I spot the motherfucka in the tweed suit
And I’m in his ass quicker than a kick from a greased boot
Eased up slow and discreet
Could tell he was suspicious by the way he slid his feet
Didn’t want to fuck up the come-up
So I smiled, winked my eye. said “hey, how’s it hanging guy?”
Bumped into his shoulder, but he passed with no reaction.
Damn this motherfucka had hella Andrew Jacksons!
I’m a thief, or pickpocket – give a fuck what you call it
Used to call em “fat cats”, now I just call them wallets
Getting Federal: ain’t just a clepto
Mastercard or Visa? I gladly accept those
Sneaky motherfucka with a scam, know how to pull it
Got a mirror in my pocket, but that won’t stop no bullets
Story just begun, but you already know
Ain’t no need to get down, shit, I’m already low

Get down, get down, get down

My footsteps echo in the darkness
My teeth clenched tight like a fist in the cold sharp mist
I look down and I hear my stomach growling
Step to Burger King to attack it like a Shaolin
I never pay for shit that I can get by doing dirt
Linger to the girl cashier and start to flirt
All up in her face and her breath was like murder
Damn, the shit I do for a free hamburger!
(“Well you got my number, you gonna call me tonight?”)
It depends: is them burgers attached to a price?
I’m just kidding, I’mma call, even write you love letters
Thanks for the burgers, um…hook me up with a Dr Pepper
(“That’s cool, you want some ice?”)
Yeah, and some fries would be hella nice
(“Damn my manager’s coming, play it off, okay? ‘Have a nice day!'”)
I’m up outta here anyway

I use peoples before they use me
Cause you could get got by an Uzi over an OZ
That’s what an OG told me
Gots to find someplace warm and cozy to eat the vittles that I just got
Came to an underground parking lot
“This place is good as any, fuck, it’s all good”
Walked in, found a car, hopped and sat up on the hood
Ate my burger, threw back my cola
Somebody said “hey”; it was a rent-a-pig, I thought it was a roller
“Want me to call the cops?” I don’t want them to see me
Looked down, saw that I was sitting on a Lamborghini
It was Rollses, Ferraris, and Jags by the dozen
A building door opened; damn, it was my cousin
Getting of of work, dressed up, no lie
Tux, cumberbund and a black bow tie
I was like “hey!” (“Who is it?”) “me”
(“Oh, what’s up man, I just quit this company
They’re hella racist and the pay was too low”)
I said “right, what was up in there though?”
(“A party with rich motherfuckas, I don’t know the situation
I know they got cabbage, owning corporations
IBM, Chrysler and shit is what they said”)
Just then a light bulb went off in my head
“They be thinking all black folks is resembling
Give me your tux and I’ll do some pocket-swindling”
Finna to change in the bathroom and not freeze off my nuts
Lets take a short break while I get into this tux

Get down, get down, get down

Fresh, dressed like a million bucks
I be the flyest motherfucka in an afro and a tux
My arm is at a right angle, up, silver tray in my hand
“May I interest you in some caviar, ma’am?”
My eyes shoot around the room there and here
Noticing the diamonds in the chandelier
Background Barry Manilow, Copacabana
And a strong-ass scent of stogies from Havana
Wasn’t no place where a brother might’ve been
Snobby old ladies drinking champagne with rich white men
Alright then: let’s begin this
Nights like this is good for business
Five minutes in the mix, noticed several different cliques
Talking, giggling and shit
With, one motherfucka in betwixt
And everybody else jocking him, throttling
Found out later he owns Coca Cola bottling
Talking to a black man who he’s confused me
Looking hella-bougie
Ass all tight and seditty
Recognized him as the mayor of my city
Who treats young black men like Frank Nitty
Mr Coke said to Mr Mayor: “you know, we got a process like Ice T’s hair
We put up the funds for your election campaign
And, oh, um, waiter can you bring the champagne?
Our real estate firm says opportunity’s arousing
To make some condos out of low-income housing
Immediately, we need some media heat
To say that gangs run the street and then we bring in the police fleet!
Harass and beat everybody til they look inebriated
When we buy the land, motherfuckas will appreciate it
Don’t worry about the Urban League or Jesse Jackson
My man that owns Marlboro donated a fat sum”

That’s when I stepped back some to contemplate what few know
Sat down, wrestled with my thoughts like a sumo
Ain’t no one player that could beat this lunacy
Ain’t no hustler on the street could do a whole community
This is how deep shit can get
It reads “macaroni” on my birth certificate
“Puddin’-Tane” is my middle name, but I can’t hang
I’m getting hustled only knowing half the game

Lyrics courtesy of Rap Genius

How do you critique this?

A stolen bus pass
A dead former friend
A puddle of piss
A pickpocket

Gimme them burgers
Imma call ya

My cousin just quit
A job for the old schools
I might try on his tux
And jack these fools

Is that the mayor
Kissing hands and shaking ass
For the Coca-Cola Company
Imma let it pass

Raise the tax values
And drive out the owners
Nobody cares
That much I promise

How do I compete
When I’m trying to eat
How do I sound
Being born underground

Get me out of here