Sam (Is Dead)

This life is a game, if you wanna play Then count all your own mistakes Livin' it with no delay So fast I'm getting growing pains Father didn't show me my instincts to take the open lane I go insane, all the problems come with my growing age, blowin' haze Trying to clear the doubt that's sitting on my brain, I don't complain But the kid inside me's feeling so restrained, gotta stay golden Let desire rekindle the flame Searchin' for the Fountain of Youth, when I'm free in my brain (Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass? (Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigga with the trumpets Marchin' with the bandwagon Looking for his heart, no sleeve But his hand carry muskets Working in the meadows, oblivion Motherfuck Geppetto He's a leader, not a puppet Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions Nigga's! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) They want a story, a story I write the shit that I find very amusing 'Cause all the other fuckin' stories are boring It's really awkward to know, that a bunch of kids do adore me It's like I fathered these fuckers, so you will find me on Maury I'm still a kid in my heart, so I have a problem maturing But it will come from experience and shit I see touring I'm like a birdman, I'm soaring, really high And I'm really horny, from watching this porn Nope (Bring in the horns) You hear that fucking brass? (Fucking brass, nigga) That's little boy nigga with the trumpets Marchin' with the bandwagon Looking for his heart, no sleeve But his hand carry muskets Working in the meadows, Oblivion Motherfuck Geppetto He's a leader, not a puppet Some professors nutty, you're the Klump's dick So think before you blink, and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions Nigga's! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Nigga's coming! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!) Five (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the) Four (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the) Three (Erer-erer-erer br-bring in the) Two (Erer-erer-erer) Where's Tyler? Bottom of the countdown Shit ain't been the same since I found out Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow-Wow Now I'm the loud, shot, body-styled, foul mouth fucker That your teenage kid, likes to bow down Riding around town in Seattle With the same shotgun that Kurt used to "Click-Clack-Boom-Pow" Still suicidal, but some assume that I'm cool now 'Cause I got a fucking award in my own room now Nope, but I can flip shit like a couch pillow And have my death silent like a loose vow The bandwagon turned into caboose, so So, don't let that little nigga trumpet lose sound Just let him play