(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