Lyrics Alive and Well - Marx feat. razorrawks

Pursue a premature murder investigation
The so-called crime sowed the seeds and swept the nation
In actual fact, no one did the perpetration
Immaculate tracks still stuck in rotation
Various names identified as the suspects
Painkillers in their piss upon inspection of the drug test
One minute they're conscious, another they're thug next
Them kinda violations vibrate and go unchecked
And championed, this false fallacy preaching
Take it back to the days where each one was teaching
You could argue, that that was way before my time
I'd argue we need some outlooks more like mine
I'm bored of conversations about greatest rapper alive
'Cause if it ain't Ghostface Killah, it's Royce 5'9"
I scrutinise lyrics, don't even like mine
The Grandmaster smokes flash and sniffs on his white lines
I did gigs at sixteen, and then I never stopped touring
I never said I thought 2Pac was boring
Honestly, it's disgusting, I find it appalling
How that ever gained so much traction as a story
Hip-hop did not breath its last breath in the nineties
It was fed through my umbilical and lives on inside me
Don't you dare, call yourself a hip-hop head
If you promote trash and talk about how hip-hop's dead
I'm blissfully ignorant to what goes on in the mainstream
Too busy crafting classics while away in a daydream
I must have missed the point in being concerned with vultures
Who haven't got the foggiest about our culture
These so-called mumblers can disregard the elements
To me they aren't rappers so their stance is irrelevant
I know hip-hop's alive and well
If it died, you other crews wouldn't survive the smell

Forget chatting on stories I'm bored of hero's and whories
I feel unable it's painful to try to keep up with glories
And trends, and all that type of bullshit that just bends and twists
Rips or stops and sticks depending on the whim of some dicks
I'm fucking sick mate to the point of projectile
Food or massive shoes man to underline the effect I've had off you
A skewed dude with a screw you attitude in a room
Is enough to include the premise that you fight in a feud
Enlightening broods to conclude it was you
Who always does and do know or knew the latest fad man or the next best thing to come through
Is massive bollocks man I'm telling ya, because if that's where your pride lies
Oh my my, good luck guy
With your life, I mean Jesus Christ on a bike it's shite
Contrived and sly with all of what the clothes and money implies
Calling dum dums with kick drums
Mumble rappers barely talking income and bling son or whatever their fucking thing
Guns, or dim sum, or big bums?
I can't hear it, it's not ignorance, nah I actually can't hear em
I'm choosing not to listen so can't christen me converted
I wanna crafted sound now not somebody barely worded shallow and rarely heard and callow
It's tepid at best and narrow on the plain of inspiration and it's harrowed
It's all style over substance in a abundance
And if you think it's not you're wrong mate there's no debate it's too late I'm gone
I can't wait around to be convinced this sound is doing anything
A steady ring of tinnitus I'd rather have than him and us
Hacking at the culture when implorable's become a bore
Because we've seen a thousand like you all before
Hide behind low confidence the consequence is this
And condescending thoughts opinions and no common sense
The hipster hopper popping up and talking bollocks
Get a proper knocking on the noggin
Like hip hop it ain't ever stopping you little knobhead