Tight Pants Are For Girls

Termanology
Tight pants are for girls
What up, Prem?
Showoff...
1982
Yeah

Is it me or is the world buggin' out?
These rap dudes are so gay, they're comin' out
And everything that they say is dumbin' out
They all smokin' crack with Amy Winehouse
We need to save hip-hop cause time's runnin' out
And all the good emcees is never comin' out
So strap on ya Timberland boots and thug it out
And all you bati boys shut your blood clot mouth
All these new rappers suck and I'll say it
I'll diss em at they shows and let Vlad play it
Furthermore they all dress kinda gayish
Call 'em T-Pain, I'm more like Miles Davis
And I like T-Pain, that ain't what I'm sayin'
I'm just sayin' I miss when rappers weren't playin'
Rakim never joked, but even he'd laugh
If he'd seen how tight them pants is on your ass
You have no business touchin' the mic
And with pants that tight you should just wear tights
Since when is it cool to dress like a dude
That fucks another dude
Y'all To Wong Foo
I pray for a monsoon
To come this way
And wash away every rapper just like you
First there was the dumbed down lyrics and chants
Now it's autotune and thugs with tight pants
This ain't the '70s and rap ain't disco
That ain't rap shit, yo that's more like Sisqo
We need more Bishop Lamonts and Wales
We need more Saigons and more Freeways
And I could go on with emcees all day
But you'll never hear about 'em cause the radio's gay
Except for Sirius
And I can seriously say
Since Pac and Big died, shit just ain't the same
If I was you, I wouldn't release them records
Your pants so tight you got a yeast infection
Rappers all singin', but they ain't singers
Cheatin' on the game, hip-hop swingers
I could kick one rhyme and glow like sunshine
The shit get me hype like a Lloyd Banks punchline
I'm ghetto like the lunch line on park street
In Lawtown y'all candy rappers too sweet
You are not deep
You made your bed, now sleep
And I hope you burn in hell, wrapped up in the sheets
On the east
I get mad love in the streets
I'm a beast
I leave any rapper deceased
Like 50 did to Ja
I'm crispy and I'm fly
And the funny shit is, yo I still ain't signed
Just imagine when I get my first million dollars
I'mma diss every label nigga that ain't holla
These dudes that they signin' now, they ain't the problem
They probably would been better off in a condom
I seen this rap dude you know walkin' around
I thought he was a chick 'til he turned around
Then I seen his face
His look was outta place
So pussy that he coulda got mushed by mace
We need more cats that rap like Joell
Cause these new cats won't act for Sean Bell
All they wanna rap about is gay shit
Whatever happened to BET, the basement
You see the type of shit we bein' replaced with?
Face it, every rapper you love now ain't shit