Lyrics
Don’t call it a remix, nah, call it a re-enactment
I’ll teach you how to adapt, from amoebas to rappers
Just open The Origin of Species and read its chapters
And study up on the impact of people’s actions
On farm animals, ducks, cows, dogs
Pigeons, horses, and domestic crops
They had wild ancestors, but somehow they went soft
Kinda like underground rappers goin' pop
It’s all good, right? One hand washes the other
We protect the cow, and the cow offers the udder
And that’s how we get a mouthful of butter
But in the wild, that cow is not gonna cut it See, there’s nothing artificial about domestication
Ant colonies keep domestic aphids
It’s still selection, just with a different selecting agent
But you can’t always predict the best arrangement
For instance, humans domesticated black-eyed peas
In West Africa around 7,000 BC And now they got millions of mouths to feed
While their wild cousins just watch from the weeds
Too many MCs not enough mics
How many MCs wannabe MCs
Too many MCs
You play it in your system every night
Too many MCs
How many MCs Wannabe MCs
Never be MCs
Every woman and man wanna MC
You play it in your system every night
There’s no intentional direction to the selection in nature
It just patiently collects all the best variations
And eventually species differentiate
But it’s open-ended, there’s no definite destination
And sometimes there’s none in domestication either
You’re just listenin' to my raps trapped in your speakers
But if enough people just like you plant my seed
Shit, you might turn me into a black eyed pea
You’re like ancient breeders, rearranging the features
Of a species of sheep or increasing the sweetness
Of your peaches every season, when you choose to seed it Or to feed it or to breed it or to weed it out and delete it
‘Cause you just don’t see it as needed, the preferences in question
Could be for bigger chicken breasts or whippets with a thinner mid-section
Or it could just be an inner predilection to pick the best in Any mixed collection, that’s artificial selection
You’re a farmer, that’s how it is, you can’t opt out of it You have no choice but to make choices, you’re helpless
It’s cause time itself is limited, it’s not selfish
It’s just the rap version of the Doctrine of Malthus
Too many MCs not enough mics
How many MCs wannabe MCs
Too many MCs
You play it in your system every night
Too many MCs
How many MCs Wannabe MCs
Never be MCs
Every woman and man wanna MC
You play it in your system every night
Okay, so maybe it isn’t all unconscious
Survival in rap is a non-random process
‘Cause those who get massive responses, influence
Those who aspire to get massive responses
So if you say I sound like an Eminem rip-off
Then I’ll probably get pissed off and start flipping you off
And grabbing my crotch and acting obnoxious
And screaming «Fuck that, dawg, that’s preposterous!»
That’s right, I’m serious, I deny my inheritance
I invented myself from scratch like I’m parentless
So don’t let yourself get caught up in mere appearances
This isn’t just «imitation modified by experience»
Nah, I could never be one of the black eyed peas
‘Cause I don’t imitate black guys, please
I imitate white guys who imitate black guys who lack IDs
‘Cause they’re imitations too, that’s my steez
I’m keepin' it real, yeah, I’m innovating
My Darwinism keeps the bullshit disintegrating
You want authenticity? Well, this is it, baby
All it takes is ignorance of who you’re imitating