Lyrics
Fuck rap, fuck game, fuck gimmicks, son
I watch courtside, Jack Nicholson
They’re jokers, no soul no women
And everybody want a single man, gold diggin'
You know it’s shit but most of you roll with it
Find current in the mainstream, drown in it
It’s so bitch, no risk, so finished
We’re so frigid, no fucks, don’t fit in
But that’s cool, you can have rap
There’s more politics than Syria and Baghdad
That’s why I drop bombs on them, the OutKast pilot
Hit them with the drone 'til I run out of avgas
Then touchdown in Melbourne, hometown
Just to go and spend wax with the rest of the Rat Pack
Plottin' how to take over the globe
And make the people go like…
Add these young gurus, Premo with the skill
Leaning at the wheel, the movement, we’re steering
Laughing at your videos like Key and Peele
'Cause we don’t really feel the style that you’re stealing
Yeah, you’re just a bunch of Winona Ryders
But you can’t even do it yourself, you need writers
To do it for you, man, it’s sad the game’s like this
That’s why we stay outside
We are the outsiders (Again)
Looks like we’re the outsiders (Again)
We are the outsiders (Again)
And they won’t ever be on our side
But that’s fine and dandy
Being me’s all like candy now
Fuck blogs, fuck mags, fuck press
Trying to monetise my black card like Amex
Soon as it’s a slow news day, they turn a struggle into clickbait
You turn a struggle into clickbait, oh, you are a disgrace
Make us look like we act worse than Nic Cage
Like Muhammad, we fought to get in this place
Love to all before the kid, open endorse for my skin shade
The media’s like the hub (They never leave)
They didn’t post shit on us, now they post shit on us
Like a colostomy (It's fucking weak)
But white rappers out here saying «nigga» and they cool with it?
Ah, I see how this works, huh
Every time you call for an interview
Trying to make me rise and fall for your ridicule
Just for Facebook likes, faves on your Twitter too
Too, too, too many sheep following Complex
To see what they need to tweet
And since Black rights is the flavour of the week
They scroll our profiles, profile like police, and
So the result make our pain look cheap
But when it’s time for real change, they don’t speak
It’s hands off the keys, another reminder
For the rest of our lives, we’ll be outsiders
We are the outsiders (Again)
Looks like we’re the outsiders (Again)
We are the outsiders (Again)
And they won’t ever be on our side
But that’s fine and dandy
Being me’s all like candy now