Ghost

Hear the drummer get wicked!

It's plain to see who you try to mimic
From the flow you stole, to these punk ass lyrics, I give
Props for credit, yet still I wish I never read it
Still I wish I never read it, still I wonder how you made it
Cause every damn line feels like you intoxicated
Today rap is overrated, and I ain't captivated
Cause it takes many men to start writing first
And it takes you twenty takes to record a verse
Gotta pay the mothufucka to count every syllable
But you don't give a fuck as long as it's billable
You claim to be the miracle but you too limited
Acting like a felon but only crime you commited
Is putting your shit on the radio
Your music don't, but you make me say "woah"
Tatted face, golden brace, color hair, damn!
Why do I, feel like y'all, doing same, thang?

Hear the drummer get, hear, hear the drummer get
Hear the drummer get, hear the drummer get wicked!
Hear the drummer get, hear, hear the drummer get
Hear the drummer get, hear the drummer get wicked!

All that matters today is the income
And you the outcome, but look what I've done
I did all on my own, got no one that I owe
You's a clone of a clone, standing in a row
Waiting for the label to pay you mothafuckas in a favor
For the album that made you a respected creator
But you don't even know that you be working for a labor
But you don't even care cause you be getting that paper
It takes couple ghost writers and your rap's staged
Sign a record deal, and you become Caged
But you ain't outraged, cause you do it for wage
And this kind of shit makes me dust off twelve gauge
You pulled up in Ferrari but you leaving in a hearse
So remember that you're just a tourist, with a
Tatted face, golden brace, color hair, damn!
Why do I, feel like y'all, doing same, thang?

Hear the drummer get, hear, hear the drummer get
Hear the drummer get, hear the drummer get wicked!
Hear the drummer get, hear, hear the drummer get
Hear the drummer get, hear the drummer get wicked!

Pop a pill, what a feel, tell em kids to do it
I don't see, much effort in the shit you doing
Money, cars, houses, waitresses and bitches
You got it all, plus added yourself few digits
You got it all, for the music video
For the track your fans love, but do they really know
All you did, was record it, and now your shit, is counterfeit
But you don't give a shit, as long as you keep selling it
I admit it kinda fit your personality
You profited, but where's the creativity?
It's a damn shame, you infected the game
But we ain't the same, so stay off my name, cause
I'm the apex, I'm the greatest
I'm latest, in the matrix
Who can make this on his own
No tatted face, golden brace, color hair, damn!
He never do this shit, he gotta be insane!