First single off Tonedeff’s long-awaited debut album “Archetype”. Letting his music and talent, rather than his connections and money, do the talking, Tonedeff recounts the blood, sweat, and tears that go into all his work.

I can’t breath
And I can’t see
And I can’t move
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics

I can’t sleep
And I can’t think
And I can’t live
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics

Oh mercy, mercy me.
At this point of my career I should already be on my third CD
But every turn of the way has been met with adversity
But I’m cursed, it seems, and I been disserviced purposely
And it’s herbs like these, that’ve got my blood boiling to the third degree
And I’m nervously avoiding this urge to just burst and scream
Feeling the thirst for revenge! I can no longer pretend
That mentally I won’t be plummeting off the deep end
I’m desperately seeking these trendy motherfuckers,
Just so I can teach them never to speak on any of us
There’s something you wanna say?
Get that other rapper’s cock out your throat! No wonder he’s been coming out your face
Son, never doubt The Plague, cause we infect against even the best
medicines and vaccines, sedatives and bactrine
I’m fed up with the rap scene
As I’m Dealing with an amount of politics that would even give the president bad dreams

I can’t breath
And I can’t see
And I can’t move
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics

I can’t sleep
And I can’t think
And I can’t live
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics

Every thing you see and hear was paid for
So, don’t try to discredit me, cause my shit isn’t played more
Just imagine having to wait, bored, at the stage door
Cause nothing aches worse than a name on the marquis when it ain’t yours
And you’re trying desperately to make noise, but all you get’s hate,
From biased record pools that’ll chart anything for their next crate
Or elitist DJs that only spin vinyl – ‘go get pressed!’
But give ‘em a Nas exclusive MP3 and they’ll play the shit dead.
These vicious double-standards can be seen in many arenas of the game
From radio burn to video screens, the shit’s the same
From Magazines to mix DJs – You give ‘em the green, they give the OK
Cause niggas are greedy leading the race, they sell you a dream and spit in your face
And it isn’t easy to look away, when you’re focused on your Budden career
Pumped up with potential, but you can’t fire nothing from here
Need anything done? Then you gotta do it yourself with no help
When you make it on your own? Then everyone shows to share the whole wealth.
But, Oh well – Another day in a cold hell.
When everyone riding your coattails are the same cats that’ll pray your record don’t sell
I won’t settle for NO REMARKS about ‘room for improvement’
When you boo at QN5 and refuse to review the music
Bitch, you’re fronting on the future, stop watching your back and face forward
Reviewers best to listen to this like they paid for it
Cause, what the fuck!? Do I need to get shot to get props?
Do you need talent? I guess not… but with drug money and a guest spot
You can spend lots on a track from the producer of the month
And that’ll induce you with the buzz, that’ll get you news-scoops and the pub
But Buddy, I’m flat broke. So on that note, I’ll say goodbye to articles
Bookings for college shows, distribution pushing us hard for dough
Then you wondering why you’re seeing the same niggas over and over
The more original the flow, then, the colder the shoulder
The same reason you can’t stand that verse you heard’s
The same reason you know it word for word. Dog, it’s Politics.

I can’t breath
And I can’t see
And I can’t move
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics

I can’t sleep
And I can’t think
And I can’t live
Cause I’m sick and tired of these politics

My patience is drifting
Cause I’m in no political position or famous enough to state my opinion
Of this game and it’s minions, I’m staying silent and numb
Cause you can’t put your foot in your mouth or swallow your words while you’re biting your tongue
So with nice-guy reluctance, I’m fighting my grudges
And it’s hard to be polite with others when you’d rather take a knife to fuckers
Here’s my final shot at diplomacy – believe this
Swing for your third strike, I’m calling you out on the remix

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