| Now everybody wants to have fame
|
| But you’ll pay the price if you’re not playin' it by the game
|
| Cuz this game is made up of a bunch of crazy rules
|
| And fools get took if they’re not playing by the rules
|
| Now, the Ice is kickin' it, kickin' it kickin' it like a champ
|
| But don’t try to play me like some wet food stamp
|
| They say that it was a fluke
|
| Cuz I used a fat loop
|
| But here’s the sccop, troop
|
| The Ice is back to make it hoop
|
| An' since it’s 94, and now I’m back on the scene
|
| Escapin from the hell of takin' it to the extreme
|
| It’s kind of strange, cuz people say you’ve changed.
|
| But I never changed
|
| Even though I got Fame
|
| Yo, I’m still the same… Ugh!
|
| Fame, I’m still the same person
|
| I never ever switch, an' even if I’m rich
|
| But now it’s like an itch
|
| Cuz I love the music
|
| They say I do it for the money
|
| And it’s funny, clockin' all the honeys:
|
| The ones that used to dis
|
| Now they wanna kiss
|
| Lookin' at what my troops got
|
| Now they’re getting their boots knocked
|
| Damn it’s a shame — do I love 'em
|
| No I don’t «G»
|
| A couple of years ago, they didn’t want me
|
| Now I got these so called friends
|
| It’s down with the Ice, Cuz they know I’m makin' ends
|
| But my real friends have been friends through the fame
|
| An' since I have fame ain’t a damn thing changed
|
| Yo I’m still the same… Ugh!
|
| And let me tell you about the pros and the cons
|
| Fame only lasts if you keep droppin' them bombs
|
| Now in the public eye — you know I’m havin' to admit it
|
| You become a target for a whole lot of critics
|
| Reporters stickin' to ya like white on rice
|
| Now everywhere I go they wanna interview the Ice
|
| Before every show it’s like I’m steadily surrounded
|
| By all of my fans and the media’s houndin'
|
| This is not a dis cuz I love all my fans
|
| But the media doesn’t really understand
|
| They take what ya say, twist it around into lies
|
| And the next thing ya know
|
| A bunch of rumors start to fly
|
| Then they try to make you out to be a straight liar
|
| And next you’ll be the front page of the National Enquirer
|
| Oh what a price to pay to play this crazy game
|
| You betta' be prepared if you ever reach fame
|
| Yo, I’m still the same… Ugh! |