Plastic World Lyrics - Sex Style - Kool Keith

Yeah cool Keith should keep it real 

He should rap about space and Mars... 

Yo I'm tired of looking at everybody. Same boots, skully hats in 

90 degree weather looking to get into clubs for free. I'm not 

smoking blunts or looking for jazz records at the Roosevelt. 

I left New York the city itself was stress depression 

High boots and urban beats that wasn't my direction 

Producers filtering join in with R&B 

A million rappers, some clones trying to sound like me 

Biting my space styles, biting my horror-core 

All I saw was cool Keiths on my thaw 

Record companies had G'd-off all my royalties 

Watching vinyl spin, local groups' wack MC's 

Some try to rap with that perpetrate mobster crap 

Karl Kani jeans, fat stomachs in the limousines 

Mixtapes by wack DJs adds doo doo play 

I'm on the turnpike, the city drifting down the highway 

Like a mirage, the style there is all illusion 

On videos out of town, peoples buy confusion 

Rolling high with cash pulled over down my eye 

Since I've been out, y'all can't see 

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[Chorus:] 

Is the world made of plastic? 

Is the city buried in dreams? (Yeah) 

Is the world made of plastic? 

Cause that's the way is seems (Owww) 

Watching TV so bored, while imbeciles hold the mic cord 

Graffiti playgrounds are played out, yo how'd that sound? 

Army fatigues are weak, is for the minor leagues 

No rapping cyphers or brothers in the rented Benz 

Crews on stage, acting hard with a thousand friends 

I saw the place turn plastic, crackers looping beats 

People with no deals, walkmen rappin' on the streets 

I turned my back, 90% of the city sounded wack 

Payola scams switched DJ's like a rubber band 

Everybody clear with beats trying to be Premier 

Clearing samples, your SP-12 fake examples 

My money grows with green from my own label 

While you act rich with no cash on the bigger label 

Your tri-state ways are shut down by barricades 

In fact I packed my bags, and listened to E-40 

Mac Mall, see-Bo, and other rappers you don't know 

You're narrow-minded and styles of mind you won't find it 

My sound proceeds with moog and undertone bass 

No comic gimmicks with beats rapping in my face 

I come back real, solid rock razor steel 

Tap your program, show the world I'm the man 

You copy Poppa Large, the industry is large 

Photos 

[Chorus] 

[Chorus 

As I do see sorta rugged wack beer commercials 

Some rappers are bought and puppeteered like the Ninja Turtles 

From Manhattan I heat up, yo light up Times Square 

I make noise like open high hats on your cheap snare 

No promotional shows, girls wear corn rows 

People with hooded sweaters on crack keep me on my toes 

I walk with straw hats, fake glasses in the projects 

Bring my ghost image so tense on the line of scrimmage 

Playing my numbers, waiting for the Five to come 

Spaghetti out the window, people acting dumb 

Fire hazards wake the neighbors, your family's nosy 

I come and go as I please on blockhead MC's 

You bought new sneakers, no car, scrambling on the corner 

I'm not the star you are, the city's fallen far 

By mechanism, you're on my tip 

Stay off my penis, you've duplicated me for years 

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you are the one 

[Chorus] 

[Chorus]