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What’s up, everybody, it’ the t-o-n-e-d-e-double-the-f,
for the illiterate, it’s "Tonedeff"
Coming to the crush the event, a bit of a cameo at Kinda Funny Live,
in the middle of the whole set
No sense in seats, so what are you doing if you’re sitting down?
Better be cripple, simple - or we kick em out
Rippin the shit in Frisco, with a written round
Bringin the heat, dog - it’s siracha sauce in Portillo’s mouth
Y’all feel the sound? Damn right,
So we up in here, livin loud, hands high
Like we stuck in Greg Miller’s house, and it’s Team Fat,
Let me squeeze past, cause this shit is mad tight
Saturday night, If any one of you mutters I ain’t the baddest alive,
It’s kinda funny like watching Police Academy twice
It’s Kinda funny like me promising CATM
packed with chapter 3 of Half-Life
Jack-knife into the beat are we lit yet?
See, the length of my teeth is the bit-depth
QN5 & Kinda Funny is kismet
Get fresh without taking the clippers to Nick’s neck
Impressed? Well, kids, it’s just the litmus
Spit swift shit and chicks get the business
Tim Gettys getting his dick wet, he’s stickin his inkpen
In every Disney princess at the entrance
Had conversation with Colin, and just when he said shit
the instrumental for Politics kicked in
Unboxing this bitch then
No Drake, just Troy Baking up hits till your ship wrecks
Intense, well we getting this dialed in
In a sense, every best friend flying in
All of us hypemen,
Like “Hey we on, Patreon! Making every cent! I win!”
Tonedeff is diving in, mind begin cycling
Out of alignment till the lives begin spiraling
Down into fiery mires, And I got em perspiring - dry,
Till they dying like Tywin,
We vibing inside here, no violence,
inspired by the guys who decided to drive their desire to mine an empire/
Climb with us!
If you ain’t at Kinda Funny Live, then IGN’s hiring.
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From “Archetype”
Written by: Tonedeff
Produced by: Tonedeff
©2005 QN5 Music (ASCAP)
V1 (16)
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 boiling to the third degree/
And I’m nervously avoiding 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 something you wanna say?
Get that other rapper’s cock out your throat! No wonder he’s been coming 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 Dealing with an amount of politics that would even give the president bad dreams/
V2 (32)
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 anything 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 of 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 niggas are greedy leading the race, they sell you a dream and spit in your face/
And it isn’t easy to look away, when you’re focused on your Budden 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 riding 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 watching 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 pushing us hard for dough/
Then you wondering why you’re seeing the same niggas over and over/
The more original the flow, then, the colder the shoulder/
The same reason you can’t stand that verse you heard’s/
The same reason you know it word for word. Dog, it’s Politics.
Chorus:
I cant breath
And I can’t see
And I can’t move
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics
I can’t sleep
And I can’t think
And I can’t live
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics.
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"Love"
Please explain it to me
I swear I'm tired of pseudo tough guys complainin' to me
Okay let me see
It's clear I wrote a song for my misses right
You think I give a damn if it's the only joint you didn't like?
You actin' over zealous
I think these homie's jealous
Sorry, I don't dedicate songs to lonely fellas
So tell me how it's gay to write a song about my girl?
You suspect, that ain't how I'm rollin' in my world
And ruffnecks on Youtube spittin' for all dudes
Theis shit is sweet? Tell me what do they call you?
And in some of your rhymes you pause your own lyrics
We don't love these hoes but I love my niggas
Ayo. C'mon dawg. What are you doin'?
[Verse Two]:
Are love songs gay?
Or maybe y'all belong in a closet
Cause most of y'all rap shit is homoerotic
And most kick the rhymes to impress the guys
And then down the chicks, man y'all sound like dicks
A whole lot of sword fightin', these jocks is sorry
The game has become a fuckin' sausage party
Y'all can miss me with that
I ain't gettin' with that
Do your thug thizzle, I'mma keep spittin' my raps about
"Love"
The strongest force known to mankind
The reason real folks around the world can stand rhymes
So call me 'soft' then kiss my ass
Cause after all my 'love rhymes' you can't kick my ass
I'mma rap about my woman till the cows come home
Worry 'bout your own rhymes, leave my style alone
That's that best said by the homie N.A.S
I'd rather be sucker for love than a sucker for death
Ya know
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[Intro]
Put your fist up, swing around left-to-right
I ain't talkin bout a show, this a mothafuckin' fight
Fuck yo kicks up, put ya shoe through his eye
If the nigga gets up, then you ain't do it right
[Verse]
I rap like a nigga, you rhyme like a bitch
Son's actin up, go find me a switch
Got my mind in a ditch, keep ya eye on the kid
Five nine, buck fo' five, grimy as shit
I'm what's really hood in Brooklyn, and hella poppin out in Compton
Call me FMak, a.k.a. Somebody Stop Him
Got security stompin at every show I'm rockin
Crowd response is "son, he kilt it" like a Scottsman
A force to be beat, can't be done, knock you off ya feet
King of the Hill, you live across the street from Dawson's Creek
So make ya'self at home, Why?, cause you finna drop
In a coffin with locks filled with four cinder blocks
When my crew's in the house, we abusin' ya spouse
She thought I was Paul Wall, I put my jewels in her mouth
Move-em-in, Move-em-out, raw hide mothafucka
Quick to the draw, if you ain't raw, Hide Mothafuckaaaa!!
[Scratches]
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A collection of music from the videos of
KindaFunny.com, produced entirely by Tonedeff of QN5 Music. Includes an exclusive track created for Kinda Funny Live to commemorate the first live event in San Francisco, CA, as well as the original songs the instrumentals were pulled from.