40 Acres And My Props (Showbiz & A.G.)

Showbiz got props, tell me who got the props A.G. got props, tell me who got the props Give me my props for '92 It's me and Showbiz, and this is what we gonna do Give you some now, save some for later Here's a portion, yo Show, kick the flavor Record labels try and juice me (for what?) for my papers The offer me a mule (and what else?) and 40 acres I'm dissing snakes now, there's no time to catch the vapors I'm not a pup (for what?) a Muppet caper And all the ghetto groupies get free with the quickness And Show concentrates and only thinks about business I hate a sellout cause he puts me in a rage I play KRS and throw that ass off the stage So give me my props cause I always stay clever And ain't nothing changd but the weather Get your act together, cause I got mines together Don't front on the brother with the Pelle Pelle leather I'm Show B-I-Z, my partner's A.G. Chill with Greg N-I-C-E or my brother D-R-E-S And what's up to Lord Finesse And I'd like to give shouts to my peeps Shorty and Wes People say I'm soup, crazy cash I recoup Nowadays I just troop in my green Legend coupe Record companies try to juice me for my papers They offer me a mule and about 40 acres They try ot gain from my royalties Push me towards the dotted line but you know I didn't sign Labels know straight up when we meet Interfere with my career and it's back to the streets Bang bang or the pow pow I settle the beef the best way I know how Release the savage beast if I'm not taking care Rap is my career and it's my only way outta here Every chance I do damage And I manage to use all the anger to my advantage All that is cool, but my brain is the tool Gimme my props so we all can rule Don't show off my skills, I just sprinkle em And you're sleeping on my props, wake up before you wrinkle them Gimme my props yo, more than a cop yo Til I master hip-hop, I won't stop yo (Repeat 4x) The say BMW's a Black Man's Wish I wish for an SP-1200 and some discs Negativity the least, my material's is cease Saying peace to the brothers in the belly of the beast People saying "Why Show wanna rhyme?" I didn't wanna get back and do Fed time I wanna live right and exact, I don't wanna be the fat cat Off the crack and have the Feds down my back If the money's stacked, take a step back, black Or you'll be wearing four four numbers like a quarterback I was raised one deep by mom dukes and no dad And now I grab a #2 pencil and a pad Or Erasermate if I make mistakes I erase And me a Diamond go diggin' in the crates (Where's my 40 acres?) Not the projects of course I asked for a mule, I got an iron horse Shit goes on as the song plays Can a devil fool a Muslim? Nah, not nowadays On your mark, get set, pass the 40, let's jet A fat rhyme is what you want, a fat rhyme is what you'll get It's thorough, from begining to end The beat is fat, what can I say? Show you did it again I got the hat on my head, Pepe's on my behind Fans on my back, and money on my mind I don't sweat the stress, take the bitter with the sweet Did I let you know I have the Tims on my feet? You know my stats when I came around Saying "Damn he's living fat" when I haven't even gained a pound Friends til the end, never will I diss ya My people's R.I.P., you know I'm gonna miss ya 40 acres and my props, the name of the song A.G. is saying peace and I'm gone Gimme my props yo, more than a cop yo Til I master hip-hop, I won't stop yo (Repeat 4x)