Fuck Going Platinum
Lyrics and vocals by Emcee Lynx
Instrumental by DJ Malatesta aka DJ Slo Mo of Entartete Kunst
The UnAmerican LP
Copyright Emcee Lynx 2004

Gettin’ up in the mornin’, stretchin and yawnin,
lookin out the window and it’s still before dawn and
I gotta school, so I can sleep through my classes
All the lies that they tell in a world full of plastic
movin past it, searchin for something that’s real
an archeologist, searchin for worlds concealed
in the dust and the rubble, the toil and the trouble
my mind is a cauldron, boil and bubble
I make magic, motivate the minds of many men
Movement on the microphone to murder them
“They”: as in those who profit from our pain
the companies the fund the politicians campaigns
in a two-party dictatorship, by committee
can’t blame ya’ll for closin’ your eyes – it’s not pretty
the economy ticks like a fuckin time bomb
and it’s not that far from the Bay to Vietnam

Yellow piss stains on the sidewalk, walkin past
Livin in the city, everything moves stupid fast
Fallin through the looking glass, strangeness surrounds me
life is absurd ya’ll, and it astounds me
every day’s an epic, like Joyce’s Ulysses
walkin to work I navigate more then seven seas
writin these rhymes like therapeutic wanderings
all around me I see fools squandering
their lives in the pursuit of green paper fantasies
Totally caught up in the lies of our enemies
folks get lead like lambs to the slaughter
neighbors get used for war machine cannon fodder
self respect and honor, what it means to be a man
definitions twisted, abused, in their plan
just tryna understand what’s real and illusion
keep my path clear of bullshit and confusion

like a spider in it’s web, I spin vocals to beats
so if you’re tryna act fly, then the spiders gonna eat
I’ll meet you at the crossroads, a quarter past ten
No crew, no clique, just a pad and a pen
And if you’ve got beef bring it, flex your skill
But if you wanna survive then you’d better keep it real
Real: as in “relating to relevant reality”
the potent particulars of power and poverty
so many rappers talk shit, like verbal diarrhea
I ain’t sayin no names, but I know ya when I see ya
But for me, this mic is a weapon to strike
And I’ve been in it too long to give up this fight
I spit battle raps aimed at corporate clones
Cold empty shells from the pit of bones
Dead men walkin, with all their shit talkin
ghosts in the night, I can see ‘em stalkin

I’m not a cold hard killer, shit I aint even cold and hard
I’m just an average cat, but my soul is scarred
By all of the evil and sickness around me
This nation’s insane, the sickness surrounds me
pound beats with my fists, it’s a poor-mans therapy
Writin from the heart so I spit it with sincerity
People stop and stare at me, talking ‘bout change
They’ve forgotten how to dream, so I guess it seems strange
There’s a fire in my soul, I’m choking on the smoke
But as long as I’m livin’, I ain’t givin up hope
I’m on the back of the bus, dreamin ‘bout freedom
Fightin for my fam, no one else is gonna free ‘em
We gotta free ourselves, redistribute the wealth
Train to be a warrior and move with stealth
take it to the next level, get shit happennin
My goal is revolution, fuck going platinum