| He fits his shades.
|
| Pushes the elevator button and he waits.
|
| Five floors down to the buttom of the case.
|
| Pullin' his zipper right close to his face.
|
| Man, it’s cold outside
|
| You ain’t know
|
| He passes the playground on the groundfloor.
|
| So he shots it’s glance and it’s still kinda broke, huh?
|
| He passes some kids and remembers
|
| Late summertime, early september
|
| Blockin' the reflection from his windows
|
| Playin' double dragon on his nintendo.
|
| Those were the days he said
|
| Not a worry in the world like them.
|
| The kid that just passed walked right by him
|
| As he pushes on the glassdoor on his way in
|
| Outta nowhere someone shouts,
|
| His name pullin' their cellphones out.
|
| Askin' for a picture with the man if he minds
|
| What can he say?
|
| But alright.
|
| He takes his sabres off
|
| Even though he really doesn’t want
|
| And even though it only feels wrong right now,
|
| But he plays along.
|
| Pose for the camera
|
| Grin in the flash
|
| Can’t nobody picture whats underneath that
|
| He is a young without knee pads
|
| If he falls down
|
| The sound goes crash
|
| Cause' of the bumps on the pavement
|
| You tell him what he gone do when the fame ends.
|
| When the radio don’t wanna play him
|
| And the magazines don’t wanna page it
|
| That’s in the back of his mind
|
| Right over his head like a little black cloud
|
| It’s right over the stove right now
|
| So that does explain the heat the he sounds,
|
| And the pace that he steps.
|
| Always on his way, somewhere lookin' stressed
|
| Sittin' on the subway, no licence
|
| Ain’t drivin' no car, no plans on it yet
|
| He sees em' glance
|
| Whisper to their friends
|
| Some of them laugh
|
| It’s still to new to him to get used to that
|
| But what can you expect with the year that he’s had.
|
| They spinnin' his joints round the clock
|
| He fades down,
|
| Looks at his watch
|
| Doesn’t look up for the next couple stops
|
| Tryina avoid all the eyes that he got
|
| And not to go over y’all heads
|
| And you don’t know shit about what it’s like to be him.
|
| Always in the scope
|
| Scrotinizin'
|
| It can never be as privat again
|
| And the same thing goes for the girls
|
| Always on his toes
|
| Always in a twirl
|
| Cause' he’s on the road
|
| All over the world
|
| Rollin' that stone
|
| Bein' on his surf
|
| Really who is he to know what their intentions are
|
| He keeps em' low
|
| And keeps away
|
| If ever he would need some space
|
| Everytime he on a break
|
| Eveeytime he on the way
|
| It’s thoghts like that, that circulates |