Songtekst:
The era's abuse saturates, Hip Hop degraded to commercial and cafe background music
Reviews are only a first impression, a last-minute job before the deadline
Those who sit comfortably in a VIP room corner, power eating maggots sustaining on journalism
Sobre Otaku, a garbage heap, hanging about the DJ booth waiting to be recognised
Have you ever created a single snare beat? Do you understand at least one element?
You have opened Pandora's box, don't sleep, crappy critic, part-time working minnow
Scrath DJs only scrath, dancers only dance, gather round a suntan salon once a week
Empty women, after the class, on the floor, made to sleep with the teacher on top of the monthly fee
THe flattered single pumping artist, that interview was a good,
Ignorant to the fear of dark thoughts, children are always happy
Next, you bilingual sellouts on FM can no longer boast about Hip Hop
With your "chekkiraa's" just like a black rapper extradited to Japanese shores
It's only the number that's increased, don't bullshit about 'the scene'
A contest, auditon, convention, such things don't keep you safe on snowly roads
I'm the one in Japan 2 shots 3 killed, there are also some cats who deserve my respect
Reckless graff writers and breakers, skaters and their resistance
Full of wit, dogmatic and deranged, and the clone that a dart has pointed out
Behind each boom, the enriched brokers, promoters, ad agenicies
My industry up the dark end of every arrangement, exchanging e-maik addresses at the counter
Those who manipulate this month's top 10, watch out, another commercial deal
Unlike stamp-collector wannabe rappers, we elaborate on different kinds of accidents
An inventor of in house power gererators, we are in the North, not sneaking nor hiding, speaking
from 12 inches
Two questions for the editors, I don't care what the original break is,
Tell me your favourite song; please tell me what it says
They say we are being modest, this is the official answer to your solicitude
The sullen duo from Hokkaido, from the start we hold back for no one
A Japanese Will Smith? yeah right, just a cheap comedy after all, yeah yeah
The tabloid uncovers the sell-outs, I stick with what the ideal rapper should be
Accessing the cerebrum day and night, handle the rumours, tame the haters
Nameless critics prattle on the web, I'm here to answer you
Your commentary on "Jidai wa Kawaru", making fun of our pain
We can see it all through, you are shunning change
With a triple X dis and one love, with 100 honesty we keep on battling
My Hip Hop is what you threw away that day, not 'mass' but 'core', 'tight' and 'rough'
Reviews are only a first impression, a last-minute job before the deadline
Those who sit comfortably in a VIP room corner, power eating maggots sustaining on journalism
Sobre Otaku, a garbage heap, hanging about the DJ booth waiting to be recognised
Have you ever created a single snare beat? Do you understand at least one element?
You have opened Pandora's box, don't sleep, crappy critic, part-time working minnow
Scrath DJs only scrath, dancers only dance, gather round a suntan salon once a week
Empty women, after the class, on the floor, made to sleep with the teacher on top of the monthly fee
THe flattered single pumping artist, that interview was a good,
Ignorant to the fear of dark thoughts, children are always happy
Next, you bilingual sellouts on FM can no longer boast about Hip Hop
With your "chekkiraa's" just like a black rapper extradited to Japanese shores
It's only the number that's increased, don't bullshit about 'the scene'
A contest, auditon, convention, such things don't keep you safe on snowly roads
I'm the one in Japan 2 shots 3 killed, there are also some cats who deserve my respect
Reckless graff writers and breakers, skaters and their resistance
Full of wit, dogmatic and deranged, and the clone that a dart has pointed out
Behind each boom, the enriched brokers, promoters, ad agenicies
My industry up the dark end of every arrangement, exchanging e-maik addresses at the counter
Those who manipulate this month's top 10, watch out, another commercial deal
Unlike stamp-collector wannabe rappers, we elaborate on different kinds of accidents
An inventor of in house power gererators, we are in the North, not sneaking nor hiding, speaking
from 12 inches
Two questions for the editors, I don't care what the original break is,
Tell me your favourite song; please tell me what it says
They say we are being modest, this is the official answer to your solicitude
The sullen duo from Hokkaido, from the start we hold back for no one
A Japanese Will Smith? yeah right, just a cheap comedy after all, yeah yeah
The tabloid uncovers the sell-outs, I stick with what the ideal rapper should be
Accessing the cerebrum day and night, handle the rumours, tame the haters
Nameless critics prattle on the web, I'm here to answer you
Your commentary on "Jidai wa Kawaru", making fun of our pain
We can see it all through, you are shunning change
With a triple X dis and one love, with 100 honesty we keep on battling
My Hip Hop is what you threw away that day, not 'mass' but 'core', 'tight' and 'rough'
