Child`s Play Lyrics

Child`s Play lyrics

I'm in the wrong f**king place, at the wrong f**king time 
Don't worry motherf**ker cause I'll still get mine 
I know the magnitude of the right attitude 
Remember one day you'll be showing me gratitude 
Inevitably you will agree, your fragile ego I'm denting 
Unnecessary jealousy, why are you resenting 
Lucky Boys Confusion ripping leaves off clovers 
Adam I'm about to send the limelight over, kid 
Well, hello my my how the tables have turned 
You got your new style and the tricks that you learned 
From me, go let go of the ghetto phase 
It's like everybody's trying to earn a buck these days 
Ripping off my kids, with your ziplock bags 
You think you're rolling now, you need to step the f**k back 
We'll take care of Arizona, handle the schwag 
Shorty got a brand new bag 
When say opportunity knock on me door 
Such a shame it's not the music, it's how much they score in their pocket 
Now, the band plays I see the dollar sign in your eyes 
But guess what Mr. Parasite we can see through all of your lies 
I'm rocking mic stands daily, I'm merely 
Two blocks away from the venue, 
It's not as if you can hear me, clearly 
Bringing up on the styles which were ours, nearly 
With help from the stars of the past 
Enhanced with your modern day melodies 
Beats that kick your as* and you agree 
I'm not up here to rock the room alone 
Stubhystyle pick up the microphone 
I'm back by popular demand, some people don't understand 
Why I'm laughing f**king up all the sh*t you planned 
Cause your motives weren't true and either were you 
Trying to figure out how I do the things I do 
A word of advice if you already haven't 
Go out, step out, special order some talent 
Don't say I'm not a musician cause I can hold my own 
And bit*h I play the microphone 
Ooooh, mama did you hear they want make me superstar 
Ooooh, mama did you hear they're gonna make me a star 
You seemed startled by the way that I approach the mic 
But isn't my tongue spitting out all the things you like 
Mixing flavors together like Neapolitan, tight 
Clam baking the limousine 
He sprinkles on his stardust before he hits the street 
A victim of his ego, pop rock society 
His gear is nice and trendy; you got your baggy jeans 
He's got a few piercings but nothing to extreme 
Radio friendly writings is the highway to money 
Maybe we'll be stars if we give them what they need 
I get twelve percent off the music I make 
And the image that they're selling you is fake