Hold
that pose! I speak on top of your syllables. Holy individuals fuck these stupid rituals
because they’re smarter; hold that torch higher and take that shit farther. We barter for the scraps. It’s happening: the master’s in the cabinet. An adjective justifies the magistrate, only bring
it back again to flick it off. You’re
tackling to half-chagrined spectators. It’s
always going to be the next hater that brings you down later. I’ve never been a skater because I skipped
that. You want a rapper because you’re
all about the gift-wrap. You want this,
that... oh, give me two of those! It’s
the fucking clothes, the money, the cars, the fame, gimme clothes, the money, the cars,
the fame....
I’m
only in it for the money and the fame. So you
can kill my record, just remember my name. My
face was made to be on posters, with some airbrush there and don’t look any closer. I swear to god I try sometimes. I write down every miniscule thought that blinks
across my mind, every catchy phrase inside my head. But
I can’t say anything that they haven’t said.
I’m here to get attention, I’m hoping for a pension, and look to
get a smacking if you talk about pretension. I’ve
got low self-esteem, I’m sure that’s nothing new to you. I’m riding with my posse, there’s never
something cool to do. They tell me ‘be a
role model’ but I had no role model, so follow close, I’ll sell the kids my
clothes. It’s the money, the cars,
the fame. Buy my clothes, the money, the
cars, the fame....
I’ve
got no options, my education left me with no options.
Adoption of another mind frame: it’s the reason I’m sane. It’s a right-brain process: invent a new
persona and present it to the masses. Classes
never did appeal to me. It’s like my
glasses covered in molasses. The last
fist I threw I wasn’t even two. But now
I’ve got a gang sign. In a straight
line, it’s a hate crime: Dateline said my popularity is on the ropes, comatose. Tell me something I don’t know. It’s for show. Talent in the industry? Impossible. I’m
copping flows unstoppable. It isn’t even
audible how everybody’s stopping for the clothes, the money, the cars, the fame...
