VERSE 1 I’m sick of hip-hop. Sick of media and that noise. Girls loving the bad boys. And, those supermarket tabloids. Sick of seeing Kim Kar- Dashian’s ass in it. lusting and grabbing at nothing but plastic. The sex ain’t even passionate. Pop culture has bred a Generation now anonymous. Whip and chains across the Crooked plains of our consciousness. And, everybody… They buy into the hype machine It’s worst though… Now my dreams Are seeming more like commercials… Of lives I’ve never wanted, Jewels all on my body, Yet you get rich enough, and Niggas think you’re illuminati. Now the radio plays generic Non-rapping, Stepin-Fechit Clipping hedges in front of your Mansion, house niggas! (whatever) Chorus: I wanna drop some knowledge for later, But when a nigga tries, they turn me down with the fader And, even if I could, then I might a “hater”… They call me a “hater”. I guess I’m a hater. VERSE 2 I’m sick of rappers… Sick of pretentious back packers, And dumbasses spittting Crap over some wackness… bastards Sick of culture critics With their heads up their own asses. Sick of hipster rhetoric, Sick of hip hop heretics. Sick of rappers bragging As if any of that matters, Yet they scream for help when They find themselves choking on their swagger. This rap nation swallows vomit To avoid starvation. (word) …These MC’s don’t even have a dedication to actually writing rhymes (damn) They’re false idols & gods In the eyes of dumb niggas who Just smile & nod over wackiness ‘til the days that their platinum plaque symbolizes how they went from rags to slightly better rags (congratulations, nigga) Chorus VERSE 3 Ever hear the expression “My haters made me famous”? My disliking stupid garbage is what made me nameless. Should I be ashamed for having An opinion… And a mouth to speak them outwardly To anyone who’ll listen? (not at all) Anytime you hear my voice booming Through the monotony, That’s me poking holes through Hip-hop’s hypocrisy. If I speak, I’m a douche. If I’m silent, I’m a coward. This fodder… makes me think “Why should a nigga bother”? (Let ‘em know) For real… If it rain’s, it will pour… Umbrellas are optional Along with truth in culture wars. An opinion throws a wrench In the gears of this genocide Of free thought… Which can only be bought. I guess I am a hater. (hater) A nigga over-critical… Spiteful & pitiful. Internally livid. Maybe this hate for everything Is becoming clearer… Cuz I’m screaming all these things While staring at a mirror. Hater.