Loyalty v. Royalty

Gil Scott-HeronGil Scott-Heron 

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Gil Scott-Heron

Gilbert "Gil" Scott-Heron (April 1, 1949 – May 27, 2011) was an American soul and jazz poet, musician, and author, known primarily for his work as a spoken word performer in the 1970s and '80s. His collaborative efforts with musician Brian Jackson featured a musical fusion of jazz, blues, and soul, as well as lyrical content concerning social and political issues of the time, delivered in both rapping and melismatic vocal styles by Scott-Heron. His own term for himself was "bluesologist", which he defined as "a scientist who is concerned with the origin of the blues." His music, most notably on Pieces of a Man and Winter in America in the early 1970s, influenced and helped engender later African-American music genres such as hip hop and neo soul. more »

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Look
I was dead broke borrowing money
Never got acknowledgement from artists borrowing from me
I don't want the royalties, but when's that loyalty coming
Because the person that you've become is so unbecoming
What the f*ck did you summon (demon)
I'm mad you had to miss the whole come up
But you was with me for the cold summers
I was spazzin', back when Manchin was jacking Forerunners
Walkin' 'round with bolt cutters for the whole summer
Shit I was zoned
Adderall, riddled in Vyvanse
Felt like ayatollah, in the city that I ran
Whippin' in frying pans
Puttin' fees on the diet plan
Put a pound of lean on my diaphragm (five bands)
Just to get you hit like a by stand
Couldn't snitch if I wanted to my life is a blur
I got the rifle trying to stifle the urge
I want the same legacy that Michael deserved
Bitch f*ck what you heard

(Look)
It's too late now
Who's the one lookin' two face now
My girl got the blue face, AP, and the screw face down
So I'm skating on these bitches like I'm Lupe now
I won't trust your wig cause I've been told I'm too paid now
Before I got to put a hollow in your toupee now (bitch)
Give me my flowers and my bouquet now (touche)
Every rapper getting souffled now

Everyday I smoke a bag of this kush
I would leave for good
And never look back if I could
Yesterday I made a hit list
And stapled it to a map of the woods
Fucking crook, you could never give me back what you took
They had it in for me
Couldn't stand the thought of me having infamy
Two guns, four drums, that's a timpani
Hollow sing, some hum, that's the symphony
What's the sense of me telling truth if they censor me

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