studio gangstas

Lyrics

(Intro)
Clears throat
Oh, wow. Hold on. Let me put on my bulletproof vest made of pure silk.
I am literally trembling in my orthopedic slippers right now.
Look at this absolute rogue's gallery of terrifying, ruthless street legends.
I mean, how do these guys sleep at night knowing how incredibly dangerous they are?
Let’s unpack this comedy special.
​(Verse 1)
I look at the rap charts and honestly, I need a laugh
A bunch of multi-millionaires doing basic theater math
They swear they’re running syndicates, they swear they’re moving keys
But the only thing they’re cutting is their kids' organic cheese
Take notes from Snoop Doggy Dogg, the most fearsome in the land
He’ll ruthlessly aggressively... bake a soufflé by hand!
From the 187 murder case to a Sketchers shoe campaign
Nothing screams "Death Row Records" like avoiding joint pain
He’s carrying the Olympic torch, he’s selling pet pajamas
He’s the neighborhood menace to a bunch of soccer mamas!
And then we got Tip, T.I., the Grand Hustle commander
Who speaks like a dictionary that was run through a blender
"I shall expeditiously brandish the weaponry, my good sir!"
Bro, you’re a motivational speaker, let’s be totally fair
You used to have the trap house jumping, now you’re doing lectures
Fawning over property tax and architectural structures
It is truly terrifying how you might audit my accounts
What the fuck is next? Drive-bys with accurate amounts?
​(Chorus)
Look at all these studio gangstas, oh they’re so incredibly rough!
Rapping 'bout the heavy artillery while their butler fluffs their fluff
Yeah, look at all these studio gangstas, crying 'bout the block they blockades
While their financial advisor protects them from tax audits and raids
It’s a hilarious circus, it’s a beautiful masquerade
They trade the whole culture for an endorsement from Gatorade.
​(Verse 2)
And oh goodness, Lil Wayne, the Martian, the ultimate threat
Who is currently elite at a sport where you get wet—
Yeah, he’s a skate park enthusiast living in a bubble
Rapping 'bout the chopper while he avoids any real trouble
"Weezy F. Baby and the F is for Fiduciary Duty!"
Man’s got a corporate sponsor for every single groupie
He’s genius with the bars, sure, I’ll give the man his points
But he’s mostly just dangerous to a couple pre-rolled joints
Then we got Christopher Brown. Oh, the scariest of the bunch!
A pop star who does pirouettes before he eats his lunch
You tatted up your esophagus and now you’re throwing signs?
Bro, you were singing "Run It!" in polo shirts and vines
You’re an R&B singer, Chris! Go back to the falsetto!
You do a backflip into a split, that is not the ghetto!
You’re trying to act like a assassin from John Wick
But you’re just a theater kid who learned a dance trick.
​(Bridge)
It’s a comedy routine, the way they put on the mask
To look intimidating is such a exhausting task
When your publicist has to approve every single Twitter beef
And your lawyer ensures your lyrics don't cause any legal grief.
​(Verse 3)
I am so frightened of these rappers, I might just lose my mind
They're the most aggressive corporate entities you’ll ever find
They use the struggle as a backdrop, the ghetto as a theme park ride
Then take a chauffeured Escalade back to the gated side
Snoop’s doing wine pairings, T.I. is writing self-help books
Wayne is playing golf with some bubblegum hooks
And Chris is in the VIP trying to look real mean
While his bodyguard ensures his protein shake is clean
What the fuck is this? It’s a Broadway production!
A bunch of rich guys giving us street instruction
They rap about the penitentiary like it’s a lovely timeshare
But if the cops show up, they’re flying out of there.
​(Outro)
Sighs
Alright, turn off the smoke machine.
The performance is over.
You can all go back to your country clubs now.
Don't forget to check your stock portfolios on the way out.
Studio gangstas. Absolutely hilarious.
What the fuck.