A little diss-track-tion from White Sox' pitiful season
Psst, I see rich people.
(Soundtrakk on the beat, yo)
From the get you were never legit.
Gotta pass because you got us gassed off the rings your teams were able to amass.
But now we see through it
Like clear fluid, your plan: polluted
We were slow to recognize, but you already knew it.
You are the first syllable in the word ‘‘conduit.’’
Somebody had to start it off, right?
Set it off, bring the truth to light, right?
Your actions speak louder than these words could ever implicate.
Even if the Sun-Times was able to infiltrate
And discover how all the moves you’ve made got us to this place.
The Sox, the laughingstock.
The Bulls, stuck on the building blocks.
You sit back and rock, in your chair, on your yacht, playing this city like Sebastian Bach
Taking our loyalty for granted, believing all we can do is watch
But this ain’t a concerto, bro.
This ain’t Brandenburg, sir.
This is the streets of the gray concrete in which Roses come from and roses grow.
And there’s only so much we’re going to let go until we let the ’Go
Exit our beings, to remind you of who the true Chi is that you’ve continued to misrepresent.
Where we don’t believe in repeats of failed feats
Especially when the holder of the receipts
Cares less about we than he does for deceit.
He don’t like us. He don’t like us.
He don’t like us.
He don’t like us. He don’t like us.
He don’t like us.
After a 21-game losing streak and finally the firing of Grifol
It seemed like the right time to place blame where blame belongs.
We’re done hearing your same ass songs.
Everything’s run amuck, WT . . .
Organizations broken. Fan’s pristine, s--- outta luck.
The reason the White Sox are having the worstest season?
A direct correlation to the version of treason you call Chairpersonship
When you stopped trying to right the ship or win the chip.
And now you’re thinking Getz gets to be the new target?
Na, homey, this the new aim game. Fresh darts, old center circle.
You gave more grace to Pedro than you did Phil.
More space for Billy to fail than The Sage to sail.
Still you float through the city like it owes you something in return.
Got the gall to ultimatum us if we don’t help pay for you to stay?
Cub with me for a second
Lemme put y’all on game
Names: Nadhmi Shakir Auchi. Stephen Ross. All part of the shame.
Auchi connected to Ross. Ross connected to you. It’s all Related.
Billionaires doing billionaire things. Manipulating us like lames, like we the insanes.
Reverse Robin Hood’n the ’hood, trying to maintain reign. Supreme domain.
Gotta keep their fleece sophisticated.
‘‘The 78,’’ ay. The real estate at the center of the debate, ay.
Probate, ay. Drop the 2025 ticket prices, but a future bill on us is the prorate, ay.
What’s a billion dollars in public funding when used as a ransom note?
Far from petty, but, Jerry, why you gotta gloat?
You must think we’re stupid
Not up on what you’re tryna sell
Thinkin’ we only clientele; you’re listening to the wrong suits,
Getting the wrong intel.
Maybe your plan is to outlive us all
Hoping we forget instead of regret
It’s your demise. The legend of a fall.
From grace there is no soft landing.
The Bulls could flip the script by 2026 and still not be standing.
Not about clout. It’s your addiction to control.
Of a franchise that has only won one World Series in your 43 years.
Of a season that ended before May.
Jedi to Samurai
I’ll leave it to Lupe.
‘‘Top hats and coats
Tuxedos and throats, where the bowties posts
Folks look past the lower-class blower of the notes
And tell un-spoke jokes as they approach.’’
Beyond reproach?
I don’t condone violence
But you deserve a long silenceeeeeeeeeee.
He don’t like us. He don’t like us.
He don’t like us.
He don’t like us. He don’t like us.
He don’t like us.
Business unfinished, yet we finished
with you.
They say behavior follows leadership and leadership follows ownership
Nothing closer to true. (Sorry, but this one is long overdue.)
That connection is clear here.
Jerry, meet door. Door, meet rear.
On God, we pray the end is near.
Not for your teams with us, but with us for your elitist apathy.
This is no longer tapestry. The complicated beauty of what once was has run its course.
But, of course, there won’t be remorse.
That stopped when you stopped giving the love to us that we gave your teams.
Russian roulette-ing with our sports dreams.
By artificial means. Logan Roy extremes.
Life says, ‘‘Above everything, never forget your purpose.’’
JR, time’s up, you off the clock. Short memories, long exodus.
Time to let us know what you’re (still) here for?
Now, step away. Step away. Step away. Step away . . .