| You want my life,
|
| you wanna take away whats mine,
|
| but I got my rights
|
| and I’ll keep singing ‘till the sun don’t rise.
|
| It’s like a game for me to watch you suffer in pain,
|
| it’s my favorite thing, and I’m a do this shit ‘till your slain.
|
| You can go and ask God, even he wants you dead.
|
| I’ll put your name to shame everytime that my pen hits the paper.
|
| Mister, «Mr. |
| I’m the new Jonathan Davis»,
|
| who tries to rap but can’t even sing,
|
| the only time he sounds good is when he’s spreading his rumors,
|
| or filling up his beer gut with the last of his Coors.
|
| Crap, I ain’t done yet, and don’t you ever compare me to you,
|
| I’m the next Trent, your that dude workin' Pro Tools at noon
|
| and now your chockin' ‘cause your career is over for you.
|
| I fuckin' smoked you, both you.
|
| Don’t you got something betta' to do, than tell each other who’s cuter?
|
| «Mr. |
| Cool Dude», oh yeah, I forgot to tell you that your mom’s a loose bitch,
|
| and her two kids can suck my dick, you know who this is.
|
| As I walk alone, I still sing for tomorrow.
|
| Don’t you forget that when I meet you there won’t be no sorrow.
|
| These streets are cold but this lonely road I follow.
|
| I’m not scared cause I know coming home tomorrow.
|
| Dr. Drew says he don’t like me. |
| If he’s got a problem with my penis he can
|
| fight me.
|
| Motherfuckers think ‘cause I’m on the radio they can buy me and put this
|
| asshole right beside me.
|
| You think I’m a sit here lying? |
| Fuck that, I ain’t gonna let no psychooooo punk
|
| back.
|
| In my city, nine milli' milli' sing it with me, I got the Truth in the Spirit,
|
| you can try and hit me.
|
| Theres a certain magic when I spit, and only few can match it ‘cause I’m right
|
| above the ceiling,
|
| its a normal habit, thats why these people say I kill it, thank God he made a magnet to take apart these feelings.
|
| So when you meet me, just say «Hi, how you doin'?» |
| I don’t need that other crap
|
| like «Wow, I knew how you grew up»
|
| or you can take the other route and just say «Wow, how you blew up»,
|
| but behind my back your saying «how the fuck did he do it?»
|
| Chrous
|
| (Yo)
|
| Yeah some may view me as the villain, portray me like a felon,
|
| so my musics like a weapon, my mind is like my senses,
|
| I know when they pretend shit, actin' like its friendship,
|
| kiss my fuckin' necklace. |
| Ask Joel he’s my mother fuckin' witness,
|
| and every single line I spit, I spit like I’m Tupac and shit.
|
| Heheh, Yeah I’m still rockin' it, still walkin' it, and they ask Deuce «why you
|
| still takin' it?» |