High Times - Jon Connor

First we talked about the shit I miss the most 'bout the game

When every joint on radio ain’t sound exactly the same

They tell you be original and go create your own lane

Then they say sound like somebody else for my shit to get played

Tell me this; who hire these people that make these decisions?

Cause to me it’s common sense that this is just bad business

Cause if that guy failed, and this guy failed

Why don’t you sign somebody that sounds just like him and expect him to sell?

Maybe that’s because these motherfuckers just don’t care

And I do — and that’s why they say that I’m so rare

That’s why me and my crew keep gettin' swept under the carpet

Cause when we blow, we gon' expose so many artists

Fuck the world, here I come and you gon' swallow my style

This good rap — I know, you ain’t heard this shit in a while

You needed that real shit, I hope you listenin' now

I make certified hits, you ain’t pitchin' a foul

This for my people keep them hands high (high)

That real shit is what they need and

I do it for a reason

They got they motherfuckin' hands high (high)

That fake shit is barely breathin'

I do it for the Midwest (c'mon)

Southside (c'mon), Eastside (c'mon), Westside (c'mon)

I tell them motherfuckers Midwest (c'mon)

Southside (c'mon), Eastside (c'mon), Westside (c'mon)

Is this what we come to?

I feel like all you niggas sat in one room

And said «Look, this is what we gon' do

«Whoever write a verse quick, come up with the worst shit

That’ll be the template for what we all work with

We’ll use this verse and do different variations

Give it to every station make 'em play it til you hate it

Matter fact — these shits will be in illest rotation

That way you won’t really have to know how to rap to make it

Play this shit so much the people’ll hate it til they love it

It’s the only shit we’ll play so the people’ll say «fuck it»

Let’s have a competition called Who’s Shit Can Be The Dumbest?

Let’s see who can make the most money sayin' absolutely nothin'»

Make disposable rappers with disposable songs

That way, when they fall off you won’t even notice they gone

«Oh well, so long, nice to meet you, life goes on»

They just replace 'em with the next one who dyin' to get on

I want labels baffled like «how we let this guy get away? «Like imagine all them motherfuckers that passed on Jay

Or the labels that heard Jesus Walks and passed on 'Ye

I bet they still kickin' they self in they ass to this day

Or think about the folks who ain’t see the future in Wayne

They turned around and he became the top dawg in the game

Don’t worry cause I’m a make 'em feel exactly the same

Jon Connor motherfucker — remember the name

Right now, these labels like me, I need 'em to love me

I ain’t money hungry but I can’t just let y’all fuck me

So I’m a keep provin' why all these niggas can’t touch me

I ain’t slowin' down no, it’s 'bout to get ugly

So I think it’s prolly time for all of y’all to regroup

I’m independent on my shit I ain’t got shit to recoup

Do what the fuck I wanna do, nobody to answer to

I fuckin' love my situation nigga, what about you?