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at a Laker's game

I got a lame
Lame claim to fame

Check it out, I bought a second hand toaster
From a guy who says he knows Brad Pitt
I got me an email from
from back when
He managed to survive the game, ducking fame
It's how he maintained, the State of Grace, kept his lab laced
Ladies of a fine taste,
And grandpa he'd play that fiddle all night long
Now the women folk they would work out in the kitchen
You could smell that food for miles and miles around
And, oh no, it's not violent when under the Christmas tree there's a look-alike gun
But, yes, of course it's violent to have an album like KRS-One
By
homies and we all the same
Still me and my homies, screamin', "fuck the fame"
W-W-W-W-What the fuck you mean you ain't know my name?
Only thing I
Now they wanna hear a country nigga rap
Five albums in, I swear a country nigga snap
Thought they wanted trap, thought they wanted bass
Thought they
been the same
And he never will be again
If I could fix his brain
Take back the crack in his mind
Give it all back, you can have the racks and fame
would've sold my soul to make it with this rap shit
Thank God he never let Lucifer close enough to ask
Let me attain it by workin' hard and busting my ass
with the cane
Whole hood knew his name, he had neighborhood fame
Now he stays dressed up
Just copped the fresh trucks
Stepped his rep up, plus he
to the dome
Down the puto fell, I guess I'll meet the punk in Hell
Simon, he seen my face but a dead puto can't tell
Jumped in the ride, headed back
(They wanna see alot of me)
So I hate when I talk to my boy from penn and he aks
Like "cuz you've forgotten me"
I aint got time to shit,let alone
the fame of soul
Years after mama had me tell ya gladly
I plugged for the tunin'
Which cause eyes to zoom in

Which put your person into focus

No
the change
I wake up everyday with my game face on
You know the name, P.E.!
You know the name, P.E.! 
Yeah we ain't  for the fame
We for the change
I
The money and the fame made us all change places
How could it be through the misery that came to pass
The hard times make a true friend afraid to ask, for
This nigga fucked up motherfucking Whitaker
Dang, he caught Whitaker
He caught Whitaker a long time ago
Mike got touched
Then Mike got touched by
your bastard style has just been stuck
By a sticker with a 'frigerator lickin'
What if how's about why would
Never thought that the napalm would bust
is in the pudding
I'm pressed up and labeled Evidence

But never chasing fame, dragons, chicks, or dead presidents
Dreams, but never snatch chains
Priest was forced to take his album underground
And now he will no longer suffer
Reviewing this album, you gotta ask yourself why
Look at every song,
life so he started off hustlin'
He was doin' good in the hood with the cane
Whole hood knew his name, he had neighborhood fame

Now he stays dressed up,
Hip over the phone, he's like, "Oh, yo that shit is crazy Jay might want it for this compilation album he doin, called The Dynasty. And at that time,
[Intro]
I'm just a young boy, trying to get my money on
Making music in K.C., he-he-he-he-he
But Mitch Bade nigga's, wanna hate Techa Nina,
stabalise loot a nigga makes
[talk to em muthafucka!]
What's strange to me
Benzino been in the game
And knows that he came
But he ain't got no more fame then
of Ft. Meyers
I got principles nigga that's what I live by
I ain't got rap feature and I'm still alive
Not 1 my 3 album is you surprised worth my
down, tore the game up nigga
Took your high score down, put my name up nigga
Tore the doors down 'til the Hall of Fame is Jigga
I did it my way (and
will live forever, my fame will be maintained
Now some can't feel this, and some feel can't that
But all can feel a track that's produced by Battlecat
So