Jimmy Iovine
[Hook: Ab-Soul]I put my life on the lineI roll them dice and I'm fineCause all I ever dreamt about was makin' itThey ain't giving it, I'm taking it
I’m taking it, taking it, they ain’t giving itI’m taking it, taking it, they ain’t giving itI’m taking it, taking it, they ain’t giving itI’m taking it, taking it, I need all that shit
[Verse 1: Macklemore]If I just went in and stole it, the police would have noticedGotta be strategic, creep in, go in, leave without motiveHold up, my plan is forming, alright, caseing this buildingWatch these rappers that rappin' walk in and leave out with millionsHeaded in sweating, open that front door"Interscope" printed out right by the entranceDoor closes, not a metaphorThen I start towards that front desk, right where you check inDressed in an uniform, acting like a janitorAll blue, jumpsuit, RussianBloodthirsty for the money like a bullLooking in the eyes of the matador ("Fuck you!")Carrying two cans of paint, security looks at me awkwardI say third floor I'm late, paintin' Jimmy Iovine's officeHolding my breath 'bout to faintI’m scared to death that he stops meHeart beating so loud you can hear the echo in that lobbyAnd see I'm breaking down if I don’t make it outThen I'm leaving town with that contractAnd I'm spazzing out, grabbing the A&R outHis chair and I'm taking him hostageI don't give a fuck, step into the elevator, press "3"Now I'm headed up ("Heist!")What they don't know is there is a gun in the paint canAnd I’m ready and willing to bust 'em, I'm fucking desperateStuck in this recession, now what you thinkIf I could get signed my life is destinedMy future depends on inkAnd secretary at the front of the entrance staring right at meI walk up she whispers go ahead, and then gives me a wink
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Macklemore]I made it past security, the secretary, the cubicalsBut it’s weird, it’s like this room I’ve walked into is unusualThought it would be shiny and beautifulThought it would be alive and like musicalBut it feels like someone died, it’s got the vibe of a funeralThere’s numbers on a chalkboardCDs boxed in cardboardArtists that flopped, that got dropped and never got to be sophomoresGraphic designers are sitting aroundWaiting for albums that never come outComplainin' that they have nobody in houseWonderin’ what they make art forI start thinking, am I in the right place?Just walk forward, see plaques on the wallOh yeah, in a second those will be all yoursFinally see an office with a mounted sign, heaven-sentBig, block, silver letters, read it out loud, "President" ("Heist!")This was my chance to grab that contract and turn and jetRight then felt a cold hand grab on the back of my neck
He said, "We’ve been watching you, so glad you could make itYour music gets so impressive, and this whole brand you createdYou're one hell of a band, we here think you're destined for greatnessAnd with that right song we all know that you're next to be famousNow I’m sorry, I’ve had a long day, remind me now what your name is?That’s right, 'Macklemore,' of course... today has been crazyAnyway, you ready? We’ll give you a hundred thousand dollarsAfter your album comes out, we’ll need back that money that you borrowed"
"So it’s really like a loan?"
"Alone?! Come on, noWe're a team, 360 degrees, we will reach your goals!We’ll get a third of the merch that you sell out on the roadAlong with a third of the money you make when you’re out doing your showsManager gets twenty, booking agent gets tenSo shit, after taxes, you and Ryan have 7% to split!That’s not bad, I’ve seen a lot worseNo one will give you a better offer than us"
"Mm-hm," I replied, "I appreciate the offerThought that this is what I wantedRather be a starving artistThan succeed at getting fucked"