[Produced by Tonedeff]

[Hook]
I, can't, breathe
And, I, can't, see
And, I, can't, move, cause
I'm sick and tired of these politics

[Verse 1]
Oh mercy, mercy me
At this point of my career I should already be on my third CD
But every turn of the way has been met with adversity
But I'm cursed, it seems, and I been disserviced purposely
And it's herbs like these, that've got my blood boilin' to the third degree
And I'm nervously avoidin' this urge to just burst and scream
Feeling the thirst for revenge! I can no longer pretend
That mentally I won't be plummeting off the deep end
I'm desperately seeking these trendy motherfuckers
Just so I can teach them never to speak on any of us
There's somethin' you wanna say? (say?)
Get that other rapper's cock out your throat! No wonder he's been comin' out your face
Son, never doubt The Plague, cause we infect against even the best
Medicines and vaccines, sedatives and bactrine
I'm fed up with the rap scene
As I'm dealin' with an amount of politics that would even give the president bad dreams
[Hook]

[Verse 2]
Every thing you see and hear was paid for
So, don't try to discredit me, cause my shit isn't played more
Just imagine having to wait, bored, at the stage door
Cause nothing aches worse than a name on the marquis when it ain't yours
And you're trying desperately to make noise, but all you get's hate
From biased record pools that'll chart anythin' for their next crate
Or elitist DJs that only spin vinyl. (go get pressed!)
But give 'em a Nas exclusive MP3 and they'll play the shit dead
These vicious double-standards can be seen in many arenas in the game
From radio burn to video screens, the shit's the same
From magazines to mix DJs - You give 'em the green, they give the OK
Cause n***as are greedy leadin' the way, they sell you a dream and spit in your face
And it isn't easy to look away, when you're focused on your budding career
Pumped up with potential, but you can't fire nothing from here
Need anything done? Then you gotta do it yourself with no help
When you make on your own? Then everyone shows to share the whole wealth
But, oh well - another day in a cold hell
When everyone ridin' your coattails are the same cats that'll pray your record don't sell
I won't settle for no remarks about room for improvement
When you boo at QN5 and refuse to review the music
Bitch, you're fronting on the future, stop watchin' your back and face forward
Reviewers best to listen to this like they paid for it
Cause, what the fuck!? Do I need to get shot to get props?
Do you need talent? I guess not but with drug money and a guest spot
You can spend lots on a track from the producer of the month
And that'll induce you with the buzz, that'll get you news-scoops and the pub
But Buddy, I'm flat broke. So on that note, I'll say goodbye to articles
Bookings for college shows, distribution pushin' us hard for dough
Then you wondering why you're seeing the same n***as over and over
The more original the flow, then, the colder the shoulder
The same reason you can't stand that verse you heard is
The same reason you know it word for word - dog, it's politics
[Hook]

[Verse 3]
My patience is driftin'
Cause I'm in no political position or famous enough to state my opinion
Of this game and it's minions, I'm stayin' silent and numb
Cause you can't put your foot in your mouth or swallow your words when you're bitin' your tongue
So with nice-guy reluctance, I'm fighting my grudges
And it's hard to be polite with others when you'd rather take a knife to fuckers
Here's my final shot at diplomacy - believe this;
Swing for your third strike, I'm callin' you out on the remix