Pay Your Dues - Birdapres, McEnroe

You wanna measure up but you come up short

You need to understand life ain’t a spectator sport

Don’t even talk to me about your trials and tribs

Because my crew’s been rapping since you slept in a crib

And if you just started making beats somewhat recently

Don’t hand me a CD man, don’t even speak to me

I’ve been patiently waiting while you fuss and you fidget

You played fewer live shows than your hand has digits

I kick it fresh, I guess I have experience to thank

Cause nobody put me on and pulled me up through the ranks

Back in the day I opened up for groups I idolized

They didn’t watch me play, I quickly realize

That no matter what the level, everybody’s looking upward

Been a minute since an A&R took me for supper

But I’ve been there and done that, who knows what I’ll get next

Drove hours for one rap, played shows to death threats

We slept in the trunk of my car at rest stops

I’ve played while sick and still gave it my best shot

I’ve played in front of crowds from one to twenty thousand

I’ve stayed in fine hotels on down to messy houses

So give me the mic and then we can get it on

This rap shit ain’t a sprint, man to me it’s a marathon

I’m probably the wrong man to ask for a hand out (no doubt)

Don’t let the door hit you on the way out

You don’t know how the rap game go

You don’t blow up the spot with your very first show

Any old fool can write a rhyme

That don’t mean that you have to be hitting the big time

Pay your dues (pay your dues now)

Pay your dues (pay your dues now)

Pay your dues (pay your dues)

Pay your dues (pay your dues)

They had a garage with a reel to reel machine

Mic’d the space up to get the feel the same

As they favorite band cause the drummer was skin tight

Could barely hear the singer, mic down his wind pipe

They played some bars

And schools and booze cans

Never got love at the local news stands

Got together on Wednesdays, maybe on Sunday

One way or another, to build up a fan base

Decided it was time, to press up a single

To sell at shows, while their name got bigger

Part time jobs, lump money together

Never had a manager or an investor

Never went nowhere and broke up after

A studio fire burned up the masters

All grown up now with kids of they own

Who laugh at dad’s picture whenever they’re shown

The music stood on it’s own though, it had endurance

Copies draw big doe from cats in Europe

They sense purity in the deepest obscurity

Till it becomes an obsession in Japan and Germany

Reissued and compiled, repackaged and restyled

Off of some dead single that missed by a mile

The band’s confused to hear the same excuse

From the lamest dudes who claim they paid their dues