[Verse 1: Taalam Acey]
Ya'll should buy my CD because I used to sell crack
Ya'll should buy my CD because I got shot three times,
did a three-to-nine and all that
[Hook]
See, there's a market for nikkas
[Verse 2: Taalam Acey]
There's a market for nikkas that target figures and purchase $100,000 jewelry
And, $200,000 automobiles don't fool me
I know pain when I see it
And he would probably give it all away if he hadn't signed his life away/
just to realize that a million dollars was a small price for them to pay/
for his dignity
And I suppose if I earnt a hundred-thousand dollars a show/
that had already been spent on security, entourage, groupies, and blow/
it wouldn't be so sweet
And I hope that Dead Presidents and Talib Kwali realize/
that it's not that black people don't like positivity/
It's simply that we often don't have the disposable income to purchase tons of/ CDs
But, little-rich-white kids buy CDs ten at a time
And the more ignorant the nikka,/
the more they get to piss off their moms
So, if the song calls his mother or sister a bytch/
or says he's willing to kill his brother in order to get rich/
it just makes it even better
The bigger the monkey, the bigger the money
Just, throw cash at her--watch her take off her dress
Just, throw cash at him--watch him expose his chest
Somewhere y'all, right now there's a prostitute a prostitute sniffing blow/
in order to take her mind off the way she makes her living
Somewhere y'all, right now there's a rapper sniffing blow/
in order to take his mind off of how he makes his living
[Hook]
But, but there's a market for nikkas
[Verse 3: Taalam Acey]
And, and spoken word is the shyt, but poems don't buy big homes
and poems don't light up wrists
and it might be nice to make all y'all jealous of my bank account
but what's more important, is that my mother's respect is priceless
And it used to be,/
back in the days when you could cover your face with blackface and red lipstick
And black people would hate you but you would surely get rich
Just take a picture pokin' out your lips and eatin' watermelon,/
that would guarantee your show was sellin'
But nowadays, if your effectively rappin' about gun clappin' or the black man/
say no more nikka--you platinum
With half a dozen racist billionaires ready to back em'
Y'all tell me how that city different then back then
And, the more he shows his jaws
the more he gets applause
And that he's willing to play the role of society's savage
Then society will make him a star
[Hook]
Because there's a market for nikkas
[Verse: 4]
Just, just write some bullshyt
There's money to be made in convinving black people/
that Jill Scott does not exist
Because if a young girl doesn't know she's golden,/
she won't allow herself to be called no bytch
Then--it's only common sense that,/
if you take away her self-confidence,/
she'll believe that droppin' it like it's hot for a soldier, is an accomplishment
And, if it will increase a young man's chance of going to jail, they'll promote/ it
I guarantee everybody, right now $1000, that your record will sell/
as long as it sounds like Willie Lynch wrote it
Just, focus on being a stereotype, like/
you wake up every morning dying to fight
Just, just snappin' pictures of stackin' riches/
and clappin' triggers, and slappin' bytches
You wanna get this started,/
fukk your pride nikka--just act retarded
You think I'm playing, as long as white folk got money
[Hook: Taalam Acey]
There will be a market, for nikkas
