Plastic World

Kool KeithKool Keith 

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Kool Keith

Keith Thornton, better known by his stage name Kool Keith, is an American rapper from The Bronx, New York. A founding member of Ultramagnetic MCs, Kool Keith has recorded prolifically both as a solo artist and in group collaborations. Kool Keith is the self-proclaimed inventor of horrorcore, and is generally considered to be one of hip-hop's most eccentric and unusual personalities. more »

Year:

1997

4:13

89 Views

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Yeah  cool Keith should keep it real 
He should rap about space and Mars... 
 
Yo  I'm tired of looking at everybody. Same boots, skully hats in 
90 degree weather looking to get into clubs for free. I'm not 
smoking blunts or looking for jazz records at the Roosevelt. 

I left New York the city itself was stress depression 
High boots and urban beats  that wasn't my direction 
Producers filtering join in with R&B 
A million rappers, some clones trying to sound like me 
Biting my space styles, biting my horror-core 
All I saw was cool Keiths on my thaw 
Record companies had G'd-off all my royalties 
Watching vinyl spin, local groups' wack MC's 
Some try to rap with that perpetrate mobster crap 
Karl Kani jeans, fat stomachs in the limousines 
Mixtapes by wack DJs adds doo doo play 
I'm on the turnpike, the city drifting down the highway 
Like a mirage, the style there is all illusion 
On videos out of town, peoples buy confusion 
Rolling high with cash pulled over down my eye 
Since I've been out, y'all can't see 

[Chorus:]
Is the world made of plastic? 
Is the city buried in dreams? (Yeah) 
Is the world made of plastic? 
Cause that's the way is seems (Owww) 

Watching TV so bored, while imbeciles hold the mic cord 
Graffiti playgrounds are played out, yo how'd that sound? 
Army fatigues are weak, is for the minor leagues 
No rapping cyphers or brothers in the rented Benz 
Crews on stage, acting hard with a thousand friends 
I saw the place turn plastic, crackers looping beats 
People with no deals, walkmen rappin' on the streets 
I turned my back, 90% of the city sounded wack 
Payola scams switched DJ's like a rubber band 
Everybody clear with beats trying to be Premier 
Clearing samples, your SP-12 fake examples 
My money grows with green from my own label 
While you act rich with no cash on the bigger label 
Your tri-state ways are shut down by barricades 
In fact I packed my bags, and listened to E-40 
Mac Mall, see-Bo, and other rappers you don't know 
You're narrow-minded and styles of mind you won't find it 
My sound proceeds with moog and undertone bass 
No comic gimmicks with beats rapping in my face 
I come back real, solid rock razor steel 
Tap your program, show the world I'm the man 
You copy Poppa Large, the industry is large 

[Chorus]

[Chorus

As I do see sorta rugged wack beer commercials 
Some rappers are bought and puppeteered like the Ninja Turtles 
From Manhattan I heat up, yo light up Times Square
I make noise like open high hats on your cheap snare 
No promotional shows, girls wear corn rows 
People with hooded sweaters on crack keep me on my toes 
I walk with straw hats, fake glasses in the projects 
Bring my ghost image so tense on the line of scrimmage 
Playing my numbers, waiting for the Five to come 
Spaghetti out the window, people acting dumb 
Fire hazards wake the neighbors, your family's nosy 
I come and go as I please on blockhead MC's 
You bought new sneakers, no car, scrambling on the corner 
I'm not the star you are, the city's fallen far 
By mechanism, you're on my tip 
Stay off my penis, you've duplicated me for years 

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you are the one 

[Chorus]

[Chorus]

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