Lyrics:
to be the man at the top
[Chorus]
Everybody wants to be the man at the top
Everybody wants to be the man at the top
Aim your gun, son, and shoot
telling
Daughter or son
Flat or a house
Credit or debt
We'll make it
What could we change?
What all becomes
Would this have made
A difference
what happens when the money's gone, son
Build your house up on a hill
Ride around in a Coupe de Ville
But buddy, all that bling and them shiny things
pass onna couch
So much shit I gotta do like get my momma a house
Show my son all the routes
Quiet all of the doubts
And make sure I got the money for
view
It's a miracle, how I made it out the slums
They said I'll be dead before I'm 21
Look ma, here's a gift from your oldest son
Never had a house so
wound up in a pig pen, nearly dead
Then he raised his eyes toward Heaven and he said
I will arise and go back to my father's house
I will beg him
Well he came from Northern Ireland
Searching for the free man's ground
And he came to bet his fortune
On a West Virginia plow
He built a house
on the radio
From a house there down the street
Singing, "Take me in your arms again"
I miss you, don't you see?
No matter where I lay my head
No matter
Baby, ev'rything is all right, uptight, out of sight
Baby, ev'rything is all right, uptight, out of sight
I'm a poor man's son, from across
Wake up baby, what you in for
Start the day upon your knees
What you pissin' in the wind for
You musta snorted too much bleas
East house pinball
flow on monster
Rocket power launcher
trying to pay these bills
I don’t care about Jeffery Dahomer
The trap house was the White House
selling
When the house was burned
We returned to the desert and mourned
Son's slaughtered, daughter's raped
Like they closed the drapes
Gone away are
Papa worked but his cheque was small mama sowed just to help us all
And our old house sure needed paint nd when it rained the roof would leak
Well
house
From father to son they worked that mill
Grim as the reaper with a heart like hell
The fabric of our lives was woven with the steel
Every stick
anything Wet you wah hear
We a drive back to the house vroom vroom son the toll baby me a draw gear
PLEcSE!!!
Beg yuh some
Beg yuh some
Beg yuh some
Beg
The shit you just said
It required a gun
You lucky my migos
Dont kidnap your son
Run in your house
That's a fucking home run
My dick in her mouth
And she
Mr. Backlash, Mr. Backlash
Just who do think I am
You raise my taxes, freeze my wages
And send my son to vietnam
You give me second class
I got a room down in Hollywood
Rent was cheap
It was this rooming house
There was an old man who lived in the room next to me
We shared
se paso
Somos amigos, pero... aja
ey dímelo Bbrown
Santa Marta en la Funking house
yeah uhmm CRC
Son cosas que Pasan
at you, Lord
It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son, son
It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, no
Some folks are born, silver
big house son
Shit on these people this summer son
Bitch from New York got me saying son
Fuck her real good no she don't run Then go back to the money
signs of corruption (trouble, trouble)
The minute your son leaves the house (trouble, trouble)
Does he re-buckle his knickerbockers below the knee?
Finally got that promotion I worked hard to get
One that came with a company car
When they gave me the keys they said son you can bet
Keep it up
Now I got my own house I know my son gon do his shit
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