I'm not really a rapper, I'm a painter
I have to do this "rocking mics" thing to pay the bills
Most people say it's not all that bad but they don't really know
That I got mad skills cutting in window sills

My parents wish I would just give it up and make records
And it upsets me that they don't take my day job seriously
One day, I'll show everyone I can cover 1000 square feet
Of shingle with 20 gallons of latex exterior
I can cut and roll bedroom wall in 9 minutes
I'll be caulking up the cracks while most kids is fallin in 'em

You need your deck redone? Heads who know the proper procedure is slim pickin's
Sand with 80 grade, then 100 grade, then 120 grade, vacuum the whole thing
And then apply three coats of Sickens (sand between each coat)
I make magic with my hands but money only with my throat
How come you'll pay me to play notes but not to paint your boat?
I'm seriously pretty good at it, I'm up and down ladders all day
With a bucket of gray paint and no drips
I'll throw down, drop cloths if it makes you feel better
If I had my way I'd spend the whole day in 90 degree weather
Covering my arms, head, and neck in oil paint
But I've got to get home and throw together some songs
About whatever so that I can pay rent
I'm hell bent on winning 'cause the skill is heaven-sent

I see guys slinging brushes that got no style at all
Splash more paint on the floor than all four bedroom walls
But they're the first to get hired by the biggest contractors
Trying to cut costs with the fastest reenactors
Maybe I'm old school, maybe it doesn't even matter
Most clients don't even realize they paid for a disaster
my clientele tell me I'm out of my mind, I'm out of sight
I don't just do the job cheap, I do the job right
I could turn the mood of your boudoir from day to night
Or I could rock a semi-gloss with an eggshell white
I'm sick of being "Master of Ceremonies", I wanna paint
Compared to these hack bastards I'm a latter day saint
It's not how you play the game
It's how you place the blame

It's not how you place the blame
It's how you deal with shame

I'm not really a painter, I'm a Greek chef
I had to do that "painting houses" thing to pay the bills
Most people thought it wasn't all that bad but they didn't realize
That it's a much better deal scraping chicken off the grill
My parents think that painting was better for my disposition
But they don't know how therapeutic I find the kitchen
And they don't know how big I'm into over-sanitation
Finally put my creativity into a worthy occupation
And let's talk about dressing, I can whip up a batch however you like
With just oil, vinegar, water, and dressing mix
I can put magic at your fingertips by way of your taste buds
I can put you on the island of Crete
Cucumber sauce so authentic you'll come back from lunch break with sandy feet

I know it sounds ridiculous, but believe it, I roll a phat Gyro
So how come instead of vine leaves your mouth is occupied with my flow?
Don't y'all get it? This is the real me, I should know
You want to hear me rap but I'm just trying to realize my dreams
Trying to fit into a more grand scale machine
Y'all want me to serve MCs for the rest of my life?
I'd rather serve greek salad and souvlaki over rice
Clean the tops of all the tables and get paid under them
$8 bucks an hour plus all the chicken and lamb and pita I can eat
Plus I'm done by 3, use my tips to buy a Del's from the guy across the street
Take the trolly home, it's good to get back to public transportation
Catch up with all my homies at the bus station.
Get home, check my email, my voicemail, what's up?
Answering machine: "Yo, we got a show tonight, we comin' to pick you up"
It'd be nice to just relax, really focus on my craft
Fast food is my future, making music is my past

It's not how you deal with shame
It's how you make your name

It's not how you make your name
It's how you fake your fame

I'm not really a Greek chef, I'm a loser

Lyrics submitted by BleedorBreathe

I'm Not Really A Rapper song meanings
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