Dear Elpee Lyrics - Singles - Solé

[Sole] 

Dear El-Pee, 

How's your summer been? 

Mine's been fine 

I heard you had a real good time at camp 

Oh, yeah, I talked to Len, he said everythings cool 

Oh, yo, I really liked "End To End Burner" 

That little diss me thing on the internet was pretty funny 

Yeah it's live sucker 

Uh, yeah, and I was talking, ya know, 

trying to sell my records to distributors 

And they wouldn't take it because, you know 

Some fat white kid figured it'd be funny to blackball 

Well, you know, I wrote a little poem about it 

and I really hope you like it 

So have your mother read it to you 

and if you guys like it you can write me back 

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I'm a Anticon iconoclast catalyst for cataclysm 

Tell Fox dissing Sole, bad executive decision 

Your egosystem's frail, with a spoon I could dissect it 

Soundin' like Corky got his nubs on a websters dictionary 

A Ras Kass record and a brand new MPC 

Pressing all them pretty buttons making wack beats 

To hell with phat beats I'd rather rock acapella 

I'd rather be broke and have a whole'lotta resent 

Not a rich king, a pawn, a pegan for me to pee on 

Check out 9th street, a big sign, El-Pee got served in neon 

Trendy indie underground 'cause you haven't got a choice 

Take away your elitist buddies and you haven't got a voice 

No five thousand for radio, no hundred thou for adds and banners 

No paying record stores for all your Rawkus propaganda 

Well-timed marketing scheme, its cool to be independent 

But if it was last year you'd be a dun or a Missy Elliot 

And after your indie bravado and the label has recouped 

You're broker than when Libra left you crying for a record deal from Luke 

I strike you awestruck you femanine to blackball 

I'll be serving you 'till you're serving me ice cream in a mall 

Some fool said this is an underground Canibus and LL 

Well that's comedy, 'cause I'll serve all three of y'all 

Heard Rupert had to starve all the indie artists to feed your ego 

Running around the Bay looking for Sole with your foot in your mouth 

I heard you like the Bay (castro) but think four tracks are wack 

Lost in the ozone and all your mixdowns sound like crap 

Hiding lack of intellect behind hipster catch phrase and babble 

Indellibles'll never get a full-length 'cause you don't wanna be outshined 

Fine, I heard you wanna kill me and get fools after me 

The only violence you ever witnessed was on Menace ll Society 

Try to sound deep and got masses fooled by your lack of rhythm 

I elevate while you perpetuate your malopropism 

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[Sole mimmicking El-P] 

Yo, wha, what did he just call me dun? 

Yo, I don't know man 

Yo, I, I don't know what he just called you man 

Well, yo, go get the books, go get the Bible 

Yo, man, well apparently you must have ripped all the pages out in the dictionary 

man, 'cause you've used all the words 

So I'm never gonna find out what he called me? 

He's usin' big words against me? 

Yo, this is intrepid god 

I'm a hip hop artist, you style biting emcee sucker 

Had a crayon contest with retarted kids and picked the wackest album cover 

Picked the wrong emcee to diss subliminally, every line dissected 

Yeah, I diss you on the internet, to your face and on record 

For the record, I know the muck from which out you have stepped 

First you sound like Beatnuts, then you're mr. 4,000 syllables 

One bar, out of breath on stage a failure 

Gotta quit rockin' mics and start rockin' an asthma inhaler 

El-Producto, independent as Fox 

Since when do indie records show up in a W-E-A box? 

By saying your independent, you belittle the whole movement 

Real emcee's work hard, ain't got investors to put out their music 

Underground conspiracy, but this ain't used by No Limit 

Mad 'cause you didn't blow up, the victim of your own wack gimmick 

But some fools bought into it 'cause they don't know no better 

That you're a hamburger pimp, only out for the cheddar 

Yo, what's a battle emcee that can't freestyle? 

All those references to imaginary emcee's, come battle me 

Remember in Boston, you starting calling fools out? 

And when emcee's tried to battle, you were the first to break out 

Well, you surely don't wanna battle, of course you wanna fight, you're bigger 

Fine, you win, we can have a contest to see who's the biggest wigger 

Oh, you win again, it must feel great, I heard you don't like white emcee's 

Traded in your Kani and X hats for a fresh set of Echo's and Adidas 

You as hip hop as Garth Brooks and as manly as gartar belts 

And if you're so creative, talk about something other than yourself 

No, I'm not dissing New York or any of your comrades in arms 

I'm tearing down that posterboy Miss Piggy-lookin' leprachaun 

El-Pee vs. The Spice Girls (I got 5 on scary spice) 

But both of y'all are in desperate need of backup singers when it's live 

And I know they think you're original but follow me through this portal 

You bit your whole styles from an underground emcee named Vordul 

Spread rumors about me to everyone you meet, evade being a man 

I heard you're putting out an instrumental album of sitars, pots and pans 

You've done enough talking, so I know you ain't fading Sole 

Have your boy Rupert Murdock fly you out, I'll serve you on the Wake Up Show 

The red-headed kingpin, step child to a little herpe sore festering 

Heard you only pull females when you tell'em you're a lesbian 

Wanna sign autographs, but all your fans are rappers 

The evolution will not be televised, as your #1 fan becomes your master 

I'd love to give you a hand but all I got is a middle finger 

Farakhan won't squash this, so we can finish it on Jerry Springer 

Newsweek martyr, bring your rhetoric retort 

You outta tootsie roll under your rock, your two minutes of fame got cut short 

FYI: starving artists don't have corporate luncheons 

Got a horrible freestyle and the rest of your style is (studio punch-ins) 

The dun-crusher busts fresh overly when I blast'em 

And those so-called freestyles, they all popped up on your album 

Manipulate your connects so they wanna see me on a curb 

But I guarantee you lyin' 'cause you know 1-on 1 you'd get served 

Now it's time to pay dues like when Daddy Warbucks 

Bought your face onto the cover of the last Stress 

We gonna battle, so write your rhymes ahead of time 

And I'll still come twice as fresh 

And keep it all in the family, like Rose, I'll take a back seat 

Keep my name out your mouths like my wax from the racks of (phat beats) 

Fat ego's inflated, hope you liked my little poem 

And hope to hear from you soon, signed, your friend, Sole