(We saw you every day) with your hands on your crotch and so much to say
You went from bouncing toy cars with golden motors to neon-striped BMWs and a court of drugged up nodders and quoters
Name-fucking fame on all photos, all cheered on and applauded by even richer promoters
Now when you're a star, when you've reached this far and the world really knows who you are (really?)
You show off your six black Mercedeses and drink Cristal like they all do
And the poor outside your gates appall you
And the only hood you see is the one on your car
Do you even have a clue as to who you are?
Bro, I don't think so
I mean Mercedes! Man, what a stiff, old, dull fart's republican shit car
Sick of hearing you preach to the poor like before
Only now you're a coward, only letting TV through your door
Getting older, take a bow and just go
The rage on the stage getting colder like your hits on the chart
But then the talk shows can still get you hard
Doin' rhymes on your prime time fistfights and spittin' grime in the limelight like a star gets a chip off your shoulder
A boulder that rolls and rolls over and over and over
There's nothing like a broken childhood
There's nothing like a broken home
There's nothing like a tale from your hood
There's nothing like a record of restriction orders
Outspoken borderline disorders, a violent, long way to the top
The longer that you fought yourself up, the longer the spitfall!
You're so fucking lost that with all of the costs you still don't see
That in reality the one thing you fail to buy yourself is a personality
You're trapped in a mould of the rap, you sell but you're sold
I mean, can't believe that you're paying all that gold to some home decorator that hands you buckets of conformity
Seems you're losing your way together with your policy man
Ending up with a new definition of poverty– it's a joke
Like those you make in every video to reach the kids with the dough, with every copied 'aha', 'yo" and worn out 'bro'
Guess what we need is yet another clown who can feed our breed with another look and hooker hook
Now when 'bitch' is mundane you take the lead with 'wassup, ho' and let TV blur your mouth once more
Just what we need in every store, thus quote the craving: "forevermore!"
You're so right, a shiny knight on a white steed, truly a hero
Yeah, right
Fuck you– fuck you right down to the core
You know what? You're just another Parental Advisory bore
There's nothing like a broken childhood
There's nothing like a broken home
There's nothing like a tale from your hood
There's nothing like a record of restriction orders
Outspoken borderline disorders, a violent long way to the top
The longer that you fought yourself up, the longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
When you're rappin' your shit y'all
Yo
I guess when you're that loaded you'd better empty the barrel every chance you get, is that so?
Empty your word and pose magazine, in magazine after magazine
Let every shot go, let the shit flow
'Cause the show must go on and on and on, you're it, bro
But it's sad to know when your star implodes, all that shit hits the fans, just like your words back when you shone
But it's getting late in the game, trapped in repeating your name
Again and again, like you're scared we'll forget it
Can't blame you, apart from that name you're all embarrassingly the same
It's so lame– can't you get it?
And perhaps you are right in that fear more sane than you appear in your self deploring cock obsessive koks delirium
But I say, to me you just redefine the old romans' vomatorium
There's nothing like a broken childhood
There's nothing like a broken home
There's nothing like a tale from your hood
There's nothing like a record of restriction orders
Outspoken borderline disorders, a violent long way to the top
The longer that you claim that you have fought yourself up, the longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
You're a man of the masses, took all the classes
Their asses are yours
All those bores who are paying the bills for your palace uphills
And your pills that will help you proceed in your greed
You are free of the chains that you need on your fans to adore you, to kneel down before you
More precious to you than your brains and your hands
They live for you
If you could just see this old tree, this patriarchic hierarchy, up where you wanna be
You need miles of roots to lick your boots
Don't you see?
You're a man of the masses, you need all those asses, their fate to relate to the one that you were
Do you know who you were? Who you are? Not the one in your words that they buy
They concur, you conquer, though a natural flunker
And you need them to stay, not to fly, to obey like the dogs that they are or the cogs under the hood of your Mercedes car
That will bare you the trip to the stiff upper lip
You're a man of the masses, your trip is a journey through classes
You are high, they are low, and you need it to be so
See, without them you'd be nothing more than before, and you know that's not much
It's just or unjust such: just a sad little man with his hand on his crotch
There's nothing like a broken childhood
There's nothing like a broken home
There's nothing like a tale from your hood
There's nothing like a record of restriction orders
Outspoken borderline disorders, a violent long way to the top
The longer that you fought yourself up, the longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
The longer the spitfall
When you're rappin' your shit y'all
You're just another Parental Advisory sticker surfing beach boy
Yo