Lyrics:

(Verse 1)
I'd rather be rich and unhappy
Than broke and miserable
Cause the game don't give a fuck if you're lyrical
And that's pitiful, so my position is pivotal
You can hate me all you like, but you worship the principle
I inspire revolution, the government's not invincible
Vietnam to Venezuela, trick knowledge, they pimping you
All up in the hood like McDonald's and liquor
Selling AIDS medicine, when we know you got the cure nigga (Woo)
You leery of conspiracy theory but hear me
Throw a business perspective, it makes more sense clearly
'Cause moreover, that's what we go to war over
And numbers don't lie, unless we do Bush and Gore over
Freemarkets make money disingenuously
But I invest in agriculture, biochemistry
Smart nigga from the hood, pussy, what type of crime is that?
But execs are like, 'You from Harlem? Where your diamonds at?' (Stupid)

(Hook)
This is how pimps get pimped
And players get played
Rich people get robbed and
Broke niggas paid
New York, London, Chicago, Philly and LA
Miami, DC, B-more and out in the bay

(Verse 2)
Show me a pretty girl with the world stuck to her
And I bet you there's a brother that's tired of fucking her
Lots of niggas' girls is someone else's one night stand
I probably made some bitches nervous listening with they man (haha)
And if that offends somebody, I'm sorry, fuck you
What you think Revolutionaries don't like to fuck too?
You just gotta beware of dangerous couchi
Cover ya head like a kufi
Some rappers think they live in a movie
Until they get herpes and clap from a groupie
And I don't need to shout you out, nigga, you know who you be
Most people are only players 'cause they got played
And have not let go of that shit since the 7th grade
Yeah, you got your heart broke, life sucks doesn't it?
But you shouldn't fuck up somebody else's life because of it
Somebody did your mother like that, that's why you fatherless
Before jail and racist cops, that's what the problem is

(Hook)
This is how pimps get pimped
And players get played
Beautiful women get cheated on
And gangsters sprayed
Jersey, Detroit, Denver, Phoenix, Atlanta
Texas, Vegas, Seattle and fucking Louisiana

(Verse 3)
I'm not a crack rapper, I'm not a back packer (Hahaha)
I'm not a whack rapper, moonlighting as a bad actor
I treat labels like the projects, 'cause I'm a hater
Go to the Sony building and piss in the elevator
Cater the hustlers, crooks and cheap smugglers
Bootleg my own album to reach customers
Every city, state and country, the hood love me
Even Aborigines in Australia bump me
They say underground fans are all the color of talcum
But who the fuck you think buy 50 and Jay albums?
Who the fuck you think made Snoop and Dre platinum?
Call up any major record label and ask them
But there's some devils in disguise in hip hop
That belong at Republican fundraisers with Kid Rock
I hope one of my fans has one of your kids shot
And blames it on Acid, Prozac and Slip Knot
You a pussy acting hard like a bitch cop
I drop you to the floor, like a reverse wrist lock
Eat your food and shit on you, like a highway pit stop
And make revolutionaries out of kids that used to flip rocks
The government pimped 9/11 to go to Iraq
And history repeats itself right on track (How?)
First as a tragedy, and then the comedy begins (Why?)
Cause it's funny, motherfuckers don't see it come around again