Lyrics:
why why why
I guess I shoulda known better
It's never the critic that counts
'Cause critics only wanna talk
While enlightened minds and open
I was walking through the forest having some fun
When I saw that New York critic
All slumped over a stump, yeah
All of my friends had a swinging
gonna' hold I back
Watch your back
A parasite is on the attack
So what you want to say about
Critics and their critical minds
I just love the way they
Yeah, yeah
I wonder when I love me is enough
I wonder when I love me is enough
I'm my own worst critic
Talk a whole lot of shit
But I'm a ten out
Well, fuck it, I ain't budging
Get at me if you want more
You wanna hate me then hate me
The critics are blasting me
You know the type, loud as motorbike
a little static
You don't want to run into a psycho's automatic
Ooh-wee, we're doin too much
I wish I had a New York critic in my clutch
Ooh-wee, we're
for rhymes
You got to save it for David and wave it if you think that I gave it
I never gave a damn about a critic so save it
I run amuk demanding
a beautiful tune
The kind that inspires and helps me get through
Ah, if I said I can't, he's say, "You can"
He was my toughest critic, ah, my biggest fan
Now
the most phenomenal artist of any and all time
I made a Frankenstein, my design impressed
Backpackers and press who said my house was a mess
Critics
Pi'erre, where'd you find this?)
She gave me her digits, shoot your shot like ammunition
Money talk, my pockets critics, yeah
Fuck the check up, yeah
door
So I said, ?Hey baby, I need some room to breathe?
Please believe, we'll go our seperate ways
Then like the critics, she had something to say
make sure my casket's closed
Rap critics that say he's Money, Cash, Hoes
I'm from the hood stupid
What type of facts are those
If you grew up with holes
appeal
The real American folk song is a rag
A mental jag a rhythmic tonic
For the chronic blues
The critics called it a joke song, but now
They've changed
we're artistic persons
Who play the fiddle
When critics hear us, they declare
The rest are all so many worse 'uns
Who play the fiddle we're from the best
there were reviews in
Billboard and Cash Box
But they were by professional critics
And they rarely reflect
The opinions of the public the critics were
Have a much stronger appeal
The real American folksong is a rag
A mental jag
A rhythmic tonic for the chronic blues
The critics called it a "joke
the underground, the rebel, a lower level
They came to see the maniac psychopath
The critics heard of me, and the aftermath
I don't give a damn and it shows
on my back
Someone please take me home
The critics who
Can't break you
They somehow help to make you
The critics who
Can't break you
a live my life like I should (like I should)
Now all the critics wanna hit it
Ya shit can how we did it
Just because they don't get it
But I'll stay
clown
And I'm livid when the critics give us frowns
Trippin' with this nigga's sound
Yup, I get it now
Get it, me and you, we are not the same
We
the songs ain't sharp, trust me they ain't making the cut
You don't like it?
I'm no teacher, but you'll learn to adjust
I'm my own worst critic, so
The sooky-sooky, bringin it from the sewer it's the Boogie Bang
Use to kick the rookie slang, critics wonder "Could he hang?"
Drop my first joint and made
speak my mind and I don't worry who,
Might disagree or what anyone might say
I don't listen to the critics
Believin' all their cynics
I don't need
at, I know where I’ll be
I’ll be at the top so all you critics bite me
Bitch I’m artsy so all your girlfriends like me
I’ll be at the top so all you
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