Part 1: Introducing Star
[Verse 1]
(We saw you every day)
With your hands on your crotch and so much to say
You went from bouncing toy cars with golden motors
To neon striped BMWs and a court of drugged up nodders and quoters
Namefucking fame on all photos
All cheered on and applauded by even richer promoters
Now when you're a star, when you've reached this far
And the world really knows who you are (Really?)
You show off your six black Mercedeses and drink Cristal like they all do
And the poor outside your gates appall you
And the only hood you see is the one on your car
Do you even have a clue as to who you are?
Bro, I don't think so, I mean Mercedes
Man, what a stiff, old, dull fart's republican shit car
Sick of hearing you preach to the poor like before
Only now you're a coward, only letting TV through your door
Getting older, take a bow and just go
The rage on the stage getting colder like your hits on the chart
But then the talk shows can still get you hard
Doing rhymes on your prime time fistfights
And spitting grime in the limelight like a star gets a chip off your shoulder
A boulder that rolls and rolls over and over and over
[Verse 1]
(We saw you every day)
With your hands on your crotch and so much to say
You went from bouncing toy cars with golden motors
To neon striped BMWs and a court of drugged up nodders and quoters
Namefucking fame on all photos
All cheered on and applauded by even richer promoters
Now when you're a star, when you've reached this far
And the world really knows who you are (Really?)
You show off your six black Mercedeses and drink Cristal like they all do
And the poor outside your gates appall you
And the only hood you see is the one on your car
Do you even have a clue as to who you are?
Bro, I don't think so, I mean Mercedes
Man, what a stiff, old, dull fart's republican shit car
Sick of hearing you preach to the poor like before
Only now you're a coward, only letting TV through your door
Getting older, take a bow and just go
The rage on the stage getting colder like your hits on the chart
But then the talk shows can still get you hard
Doing rhymes on your prime time fistfights
And spitting grime in the limelight like a star gets a chip off your shoulder
A boulder that rolls and rolls over and over and over
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