I'm in the wrong fucking place, at the wrong fucking time    Don't worry motherfucker cause I'll still get mine    I know the magnitude of the right attitude    Remember one day you'll be showing me gratitude    Inevitably you will agree, your fragile ego I'm denting    Unnecessary jealousy, why are you resenting    Lucky Boys Confusion ripping leaves off clovers    Adam I'm about to send the limelight over, kid    Well, hello my my how the tables have turned    You got your new style and the tricks that you learned    From me, go let go of the ghetto phase    It's like everybody's trying to earn a buck these days    Ripping off my kids, with your ziplock bags    You think you're rolling now, you need to step the fuck back    We'll take care of Arizona, handle the schwag    Shorty got a brand new bag    When say opportunity knock on me door    Such a shame it's not the music, it's how much they score in their pocket    Now, the band plays I see the dollar sign in your eyes    But guess what Mr. Parasite we can see through all of your lies    I'm rocking mic stands daily, I'm merely    Two blocks away from the venue,    It's not as if you can hear me, clearly    Bringing up on the styles which were ours, nearly    With help from the stars of the past    Enhanced with your modern day melodies    Beats that kick your ass and you agree    I'm not up here to rock the room alone    Stubhystyle pick up the microphone    I'm back by popular demand, some people don't understand    Why I'm laughing fucking up all the shit you planned    Cause your motives weren't true and either were you    Trying to figure out how I do the things I do    A word of advice if you already haven't    Go out, step out, special order some talent    Don't say I'm not a musician cause I can hold my own    And bitch I play the microphone    Ooooh, mama did you hear they want make me superstar    Ooooh, mama did you hear they're gonna make me a star    You seemed startled by the way that I approach the mic    But isn't my tongue spitting out all the things you like    Mixing flavors together like Neapolitan, tight    Clam baking the limousine    He sprinkles on his stardust before he hits the street    A victim of his ego, pop rock society    His gear is nice and trendy; you got your baggy jeans    He's got a few piercings but nothing to extreme    Radio friendly writings is the highway to money    Maybe we'll be stars if we give them what they need    I get twelve percent off the music I make    And the image that they're selling you is fake