Beat Cops (feat. Soul Khan)

from by Obese Chess

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about

This was cut from a press release and even though it's corny it's pretty accurate: "I had been kicking around the idea of doing a track with Soul Khan for years, and I used the downtime I had while I re-worked, re-mixed, and re-imagined my album to make it happen. During that time I kept seeing hip-hop 'purists' giving passes to totally generic, horrible raps from independent artists, just because the artists weren't on major labels. At the same time, I knew Soul Khan was in the process of really fine-tuning his craft and going for more personal, conscious lyrics, which sets him apart from a lot of those artists, so I thought the two ideas would mesh well together. It was an honor to work with him and I'm happy to say he knocked it out of the park."

Second Single.

lyrics

Catch 'em in the club with some donuts and a pot of coffee
They writin' tickets givin' everyone a carbon copy
lock you in a box and they toss the key
never walkin' out till you obsolete
They shut the party down and they stop the beat,
Say you need a permit just to rock with me,
You takin' fingerprints and searching the body?
If you're policin' hip hop, I want to see some ID
Well little homie, says here you can not spit
Your record is criminal, rhymes are obnoxious
So keep it underground, call it “real hip hop shit”
'Cause if you get a budget, you a sellout, you not shit
Got a hit, got a deal when Doug Morris hears it,
Five mics in Source and they praise your crazy lyrics
But you ain't got no poetry, no prose, just cons
Call in a professional, check the homie Soul Khan

You the run the whole show, but you runnin' it bad
So we roll up with the gun and the badge
And ain't nobody gonna know what it means
Beat cops and we're on the scene
Now everybody go ahead and put your hands up
Cruisin' around in a new police truck
And everybody out here chasin' the green,
Beat cops and we're on the scene

[Soul Khan]
Well it's the unprofessional
That got your mama and your mama's mama
Sweating out them love jones chemicals
Your blunt smoke's medical, but you ain't sick, dog
You're too 8 bit for you to stunt so technical
There's thirty pages of rhymes in this here book
But what's the point if you forget it like a kid's yearbook
The A&R's tell me you just gon' hear hooks
But I got a pretty woman without Rich Gere looks
Soul's so willing to go gorilla food
For that Tillamook 'til it spills through a hole in my villa roof
For real, if you ain't feeling me, then you who do you approve of
You need a group hug and something that's tequila proof
But if you're just trying to get my goat, I'll let you yodel
and I ain't slowing down 'til ever single record mogul
recognizes I am Reggie Noble mixed with Quetzalcotl
so let me get to know you, before I'm dead below you

You the run the whole show, but you runnin' it bad
So we roll up with the gun and the badge
And ain't nobody gonna know what it means
Beat cops and we're on the scene
Now everybody go ahead and put your hands up
Cruisin' around in a new police truck
And everybody out here chasin' the green,
Beat cops and we're on the scene

Incompetent doctor, tried to save the patient
Cut the wrong limbs off, still made the payments
Picture perfect packaged by a major corporation,
We love the empty calories, your taste is amazing
You make it look so easy, like it's part of the plan,
Your single's fucking cheesy, you promote it with spam
You roll with stale crackers and you never go ham
Your grind is Lunchables, just being real with you, man
We all waitin' for that hype machine to die down,
Turn the lights down, get the fuck out of my town
You beggin' for success when we designed ours
My crew sticks together like Frida's eyebrows
And then we dictate that rap is in trouble now
Put your life savings on crap and you double down
You're fracking the scene, you pollute the underground
Because you ain't all in, you just here to fuck around

credits

from Mata Hari, released August 1, 2014

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Obese Chess Portland, Oregon

All-American Union-Made Rap Music.

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