Gangsta Shit

A yo. Some original shit...

Behind the scenes there ain't shit between the American dream and the Gangsta lean.
Same swagger and sway with nothin' to say. Except what it cost?

Dumb it down, become boss.
Now fear me, cause love lost.
And fuck me, with fingers crossed.

Spreading lies, getting loose. Humble eyes stretching truth.
Neon dancers and sublte glancers. They pulled your card:

You ain't no worldwide rockstar,
you a county line cockstar.

Who push it in her, to win her. From winter to winner.
Then whisper
an apology; dirty cash lottery.

Jackpot the fact, the joke's on you Jack.

Cause they never even listened to a word you said.
We just smiled politely and wished you dead.

Bitch.