| I don’t wanna be famous
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| And get my picture in the paper
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| With the headlines read
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| I think this is the god who made you
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| With all them bitches and bastards
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| With the big mouth for backstabbing
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| Critics dis not to miss all the dirt to be grabbing
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| The effects of the scandoulsness of my entire reality
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| To be dripping in the of a self inflicted me
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| I’ll be singing with a broken heart
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| Is gonna help me top the chart
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| Which brings to the point
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| That happened just back at the start
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| I don’t wanna be famous
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| And blow my horn like miles davis
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| Suck here on my dick
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| And then tell me im the greatest
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| All them bastards and bitches
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| Get me starring in the pictures
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| Im gonna be fucking huge
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| Now tell me who the fuck is jesus
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| To be number one under the sun
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| I’ll need a gun to knock you out
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| And just to get it right
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| I’ll need the best agent around
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| Get me in the magazines in my nudity
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| With a little cutie girl
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| Whos famous just like me
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| I don’t wanna be famous
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| And be adored by loving strangers
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| Make my music shit
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| But just make sure it’s contagious
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| Masterplans to think instead
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| The song should stick right in your head
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| Radio rotation
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| Play it over till it’s dead
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| Driving fancy cars to fancy bars
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| To make a point im on it
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| And in the intermission do some chicken on your bonnet
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| My egos gonna grow till you can find me floating
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| In the sky in the fire in the light i’ll be stokin |