Urbanite

Breaking out the urbanite lingo
Smoking the indo
Drinking gin and juice in the hood
And I could come across a little phony
Talking like a homie
Even though I’m just a Wonder Bread
gringo
Coming out wearing gold chains
Trying to make it look like the bling
Is an adequate brain
And I don’t care if I can afford it
I already bought it on credit
I got it, forget it
Every little thing that I do
I can see your eyes on me
Cruising by your house like a pimped out flunkey
Don’t trip, Don’t be intimidated
Cuz I spent a cool grip on my kicks
And you waiting for a sign of intelligence
But I’ll never let you know
that I’m out of my element
Evidence shows that you really
don’t need to know much
when you got dead presidents.
So I max out my credit
at a savings and loan
I’m gonna buy a new watch
And a cellular phone
Because the girlies don’t roll with a fool who’s thrifty
Wearing gold so the girlies don’t dis me
It doesn’t matter what I have in my head
Because the weight of the wallet
Is what gets ‘em in bed
and then I dump ‘em like yesterday’s news (whazzup)
because they don’t feel loved unless they’re feeling abused
but it doesn’t really matter cuz I haven’t had a girl
stick around, coming down hard on my sensitive ego
try to compensate with an Inglewood front
put the cheese back into machismo
Stupid trends are a big sensation
To be phatter than a pound of bacon
Education wasted
Ain’t a damn thing sadder
Than a fly Caucasian

And I’m so unsure of myself
Cuz I don’t have my own identity
Come down hard on myself
Cuz I don’t know where I’m going
Giving up on myself cuz I don’t know how to fit in
So I do what everybody else is doing


Look at me
I’m a goddamn prodigy
Kickin out the old school mix
With the new technology
Follow me out
if you doubt my authority
to be a pimp is my only priority
No, it ain’t a good thing, you’re thinking
Acting like I been perpetually drinking
Limping around, but I call it a strut
And I think I’m tough
Because I’m smoking a blunt
So I try to keep it real
Whatever that means
In the meantime I’m stopping
To pull up my jeans
No, I don’t think you want to see
The crack of my ass
But fashion doesn’t think about
The issue of class
So I write phat rhymes
to give my life purpose
Kinda tough, cuz I don’t know what a verb is
Nevertheless, I confess
I’m confused, and I’m losing my head
my life is a mess
And I think that I could do a lot of damage
If I manage to find stupid girl
with a low self image
who will tolerate a fool with the droopy britches
and a hat with the tag still connected
to tell the world that I’m a mental defective
But it seems that I got it all down
All I gotta do is act like a Hollywood clown
I don’t care that I act like a fool (like a tool)
I don’t care that I don’t have a clue
People see a white boy hittin on the mic
And they can’t believe their eyes
But they tell me they like it
Then I wake up, sweatin like a freak
I guess I’m only ill when I’m fast asleep
Skin deep, with my tats and my Nikes
Trying to get everybody to like me
But being stupid doesn’t make me unique
I guess wish I wasn’t so afraid of being a geek