|
zuò qǔ : Gildenl w |
|
1: Introducing star |
|
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 ing 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 know 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 |
|
2: Thus quote the craving |
|
You' re so ing 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: " forever more! " |
|
You' re so right, a shiny knight on a white steed, truly a hero |
|
Yeah right |
|
you - 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 |
|
3: Redefing vomatorium |
|
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 |
|
4: Man of the masses |
|
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 want to 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, 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 spit falls |
|
When you' re rappin' your shit y' all |
|
5: Yo |
|
You' re just another Parental Advisory sticker surfing beach boy |
|
Yo |