The Hang Up

I’m fucking losing my mind
Yet again
Everything you do just makes me sick
Bullshit you say
To get attention
Shit’s pretentious
I’m growing tired of your shit
When I’m grabbing the mic what do you see?
Image obsessed
Go buy a motherfucking magazine
Go home
Die slow
Nobody cares about you
Go home
Die slow
And write a song about me
You’re so new school
I wonder why everything you do is sick and fly
Take off your shades
You wanna talk about gimmicks?
Look at yourself
When you’re alone I know you’re somebody else
I’m the realest motherfucker in the game
I see you faggots living perfect lives
Selling all your bullshit angst
Sold my soul
So, Satan explain:
Where’s my money, power, fame?
I’m the realest motherfucker in the game
So check yourself before you ever say my name