sam is dead
This life is a game if you wanna play, counting all your old mistakes
Living it with no delay, so fast I'm getting growing pains
Father didn't show me my instincts to take the open lane
I go insane, all these problems comin' with my growing age
Blowing haze, tryna clear the doubt that's sitting on my brain
I don't complain but the kid inside me's feeling so restrained
Gotta stay gold and let desire rekindle the flame
Searching for the Fountain of Youth when I'm freein' my brain
Bring in the horns, you hear that fucking brass?
That's little boy nigga with the trumpets
Marching with the bandwagon, looking for his heart
No sleeve, but his hand carry muskets
Lurking in the meadows, oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto, he's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nuttier than Klump's dick
So think before you blink and aye-aye make assumptions
(Niggas!)
Your left, your left, your left, right left
(Niggas is coming!)
Your left, your left, your left, right left
They want a story, a story I write the shit that I find
Very amusing, cause all of they fucking stories are boring
It's really awkward to know that a bunch of kids do adore me
It's like I fathered these fuckers, so you won't find me on Maury
I'm still a kid in my heart so I have a problem maturing
But it will come from experiences and shit I see touring
I'm like a bird when I'm soaring, really high
And I'm really horny, from watching this porn, nope, but
Bring in the horns, you hear that fucking brass?
That's little boy nigga with the trumpets
Marching with the bandwagon, looking for his heart
No sleeve, but his hand carry muskets
Lurking in the meadows, oblivion
Motherfuck Geppetto, he's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nuttier than Klump's dick
So think before you blink and aye-aye make assumptions
(Niggas!)
Your left, your left, your left, right left
(Niggas is coming!)
Your left, your left, your left, right left
5, 4, 3, 2, and where's Tyler?
Bottom of the countdown, shit ain't been the same
Since I found out Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow Wow
Now I’m the loud shock value style foul mouth fucker
That your teenage kid likes to bow down
Riding around town in Seattle
With the same shotgun that Kurt used to click-clack, boom-pow
Still suicidal but some assume that I'm cool now
Cause I got a fucking award and my own room now
Nope, but I can flip shit like a couch pillow
And have my death silent like a loose vowel
The bandwagon turned into caboose, so
So, don't let that little nigga trumpet lose sound
Just let him play