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The Fallout

from The Rebel Cell by Mud Sun



The Fallout

Damn I never heard a man so self-righteous
Like you're rapping to audition for Nobel prizes
Plus, you're always riding on my coat-tails in cyphers
But there's no real bite to it
So it feels lifeless

And what do you feel?
The squeeze of rising hotel prices?
The fact you'll finish life in a home for failed writers?
My folktales are timeless
Your essays make my skin crawl
That review was right
Hearing you spit's like chewing tinfoil

Hey, at least I'm not afraid to be reviewed
Man, your attitude is like
"I'm gonna cry if I get a bad review"
And that's the truth
Man you're so sensitive I can't throw away a plastic spoon
Without putting you in a nasty mood

Rather that than you
A hippie kid with Nazi views you hide
Your sense of irony is like your sense of music
Not too refined

Well all I hear from you is like
"It's revolution bruv!
But I forgot what the best solution was
So, uh, let's do some drugs!"

Let's do some music to amuse men in suits
And rock shows for twats
And crack in-jokes for stock brokers

So I'm supposed to apologize
'Cause I want a life with real flair
And you want to volunteer to sit in a wheelchair
'Cause it feels fair?

You see, you say you're liberal
But really you'd stand aside as the cripple suffers
You'd rather strong market and
Business competition than justice

Jibbering nonsense
You feel smug because of your guilty conscience
When you're just another hypocrite rebel
Living in Sussex

And you're another privileged muppet bruv
It's clear you're twice as smug as me
You must be
In five years you'll inherit your daddy's company

Too bad
It must be humbling to know you had to come to me
To get a record made after eight years as a bum MC
Brother please
You're lucky to be in Mud Sun with me

That is so typically arrogant
I made that name
You just make the stage shows embarrassing

Otherwise you'd still be humming over fluffy dub beats
Talking about the people's struggle
While you're living comfortably
Man that's bloody weak

Better than weak blooded
Speaking on politics
So molly-coddled that
You run to mom for cuddles if
You get muddy feet

Now that's really funny
To someone who planted a million trees
While you were running with the druggy clique

However many thesises you read you'll never change
Just thinking of something clever to say
To entertain people like you

What a geek
Dissing my thesis 'cause you need
To reject anything different
From your illiterate speeches

I'm sick of it
Must have been an idiot to think
That this crew could do something different
With a prick in it like you
And your attitude to women isn't loose
It's disrespectful
I've never heard of such a blatant perv claiming intellectual

Hey Dizraeli, get some testicles

You don't seem to see yourself at all

No really, it's pathetic though

Insensitive insensible

You've got your girlfriend's feminism

Incapable of ever listening to anything

Up in your mouth like ventriloquism

Anything but your own position

And you're not defending those women

And when you're drunk
You're worse
You're detestable

You're just jealous 'cause I go home with them!

You think your penis is as big as your pedestal

Oh hey, here we go

It's weird though
You claim to champion the underdog

Here comes the preacher flow...

But you wander of to shag it
If you think its bum is hot

Come on
Once again you want to pretend
A woman is a victim
Why? 'Cause she has some fun in a bed

You're numb in the head, geez
'Cause a woman is sexy

Or someone is a victim just 'cause
someone has more and someone has less

Doesn't mean she wants your affection
Your infection

You wanna dumb a test
Just 'cause someone gets less
Than a hundred percent

Your me me pestering
Your erection

Or censor rap so it doesn't offend?
Don't tell me you're not a hater
Your justice is just this
The lowest common denominator

And yours is uncannily similar to Stalin and Hitler
And any other dictator that happens to fit in the picture

Your casual references to Nazism
Show disrespect to their actual victims
Just like your vapid activism

A version of reality
That purges the weak savagely
A hell for the majority
A paradise for predators

Survival of the fittest right?
Survival of the six foot five
White male with a checkbook signed
By dad and a sick look in his eye

Man I'm sick of this ridiculous fight

Man I'm sick of these clashes

Your constant hypocritical victim's rights discussions

The farce this is becoming

Your insipid accusations of fascism

I'm ashamed to be associated
With an asshole that sticks to nothing

And predictable judgements

Who stands for nothing
But diluted establishment mutterings

I get physically sick
When I hear you riff on political subjects

And it is a fascist
That hides behind your liberal frontage

In fact
I'm finished with it

I'm finished with it


Fuck this


from The Rebel Cell, released August 1, 2008


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Baba Brinkman New York, New York

Science rapper and inventor of several novel hip-hop variants. Canadian transplant to New York. Pathological optimist.

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