Wake Me When I'm Dead - The Brand New Heavies, Master Ace

Oh, what a night, yo, that I just been through

I barely made it home from this hip-hop venue

These 2 guys, no 3 guys, no four, no, this posse

Try to fake a move and bum-rush me like a Nazi

Underground club where the kids are like rolling

I almost got an avalanche dropped on my show and

Cause I writes the fat raps and kids memorize 'em

I tries um this new style and boy did I surprise 'em

They said yo, that’s too hype, yo, who’s he think he is

He suppose to be commercial like that song about the Biz

The kid said «Masta Ace, yo, what’s the deal with the switching?»

He’s bitching, didn’t like the rap I was pitching

You see, he was a rapper with a single about to drop

His record label told him that he had to make it pop

Take it from me Jack, you’re sadly mistaken

A lot of record labels be trying to get the bacon

By making a brother into something he is not and

You’re better of in 'bama on a farm picking cotton

They mold ya and shape ya, they bend and they twist ya

They get paid like quick fast and that’s when they dis ya

So homeboy, you’re better off coming from the heart

And letting the kids put your record on the chart

You must use your head and forget what they said

Cause in about a year you’ll be like wake me when I’m dead

Wake up!

The Masta, the Ace and the Brand New, the Heavies

If this was an opera, I’d probably say Figaro

Black kid from Brooklyn but don’t call me nigga tho'

I rocks the jams for the young population

I wonder, I wonder, can I change the nation

It’s futile, so I try, yes, hoping, yea, maybe

But I can’t sit home and write Ice, Ice Baby

Cause if it comes down to, I must have a pop hit

I’ll go get a dayjob and rapping, I’ll stop it

I’m never going out, so, yo, firm I am standing

Cause my jams are fat like a cop named Cannon

My rap is for the mind, it’s nutritious

My word is final, the vinyl is delicious

So face it as if it was a hot fudge sundae

Or I’ll come get mine, I guess maybe one day

I gotta work hard and must use my head

To never hit the point, I’m saying wake me when I’m dead

Wake me when I’m dead, hey yo, wake me when I’m dead

This life is like a nightmare, I’m gonna lose my head

So I make the jam that’ll make me feel better

I hear a lot of groups that come cheesier than cheddar

But this jam is well bulit like '57 Chevies

The Masta, the Ace and the Brand New, the Heavies

So weigh this on your underground scale and

We be prevailing while others be failing

I’m hailing from Brooklyn and I strive for the ends

But I don’t need a Beemer and I don’t need a Benz

Still I get respect for the style I be choosing

Rapping to the soul kind of jazz type of fusion

I’m cruising, not for a bruising but I’ll break up

Anything that’s broiling like an LA Laker

So I rocks the West Coast as well as the city, yo

I got crazy flavor like a PE video

Plus I got alot of, um, skill and that’s word doc

With battle, who me G, you’re crazier than Murdoch

Instead of confronting, you oughta be checking

The time cause it’s wasting, second after second

You’re so busy ripping and daring kids to shoot ya

According to the Jetsons, there’s no blacks in the future

You better wake up before you’re in over your head

Tomorrow, you’ll be screaming wake me when I’m dead