Lirik Lagu Childs Play - Lucky Boys Confusion
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I'm in the wrong fucking place, at the wrong fucking timeDon't worry motherfucker cause I'll still get mineI know the magnitude of the right attitudeRemember one day you'll be showing me gratitudeInevitably you will agree, your fragile ego I'm dentingUnnecessary jealousy, why are you resentingLucky Boys Confusion ripping leaves off cloversAdam I'm about to send the limelight over, kidWell, hello my my how the tables have turnedYou got your new style and the tricks that you learnedFrom me, go let go of the ghetto phaseIt's like everybody's trying to earn a buck these daysRipping off my kids, with your ziplock bagsYou think you're rolling now, you need to step the fuck backWe'll take care of Arizona, handle the schwagShorty got a brand new bagWhen say opportunity knock on me doorSuch a shame it's not the music, it's how much they score in their pocketNow, the band plays I see the dollar sign in your eyesBut guess what Mr. Parasite we can see through all of your liesI'm rocking mic stands daily, I'm merelyTwo blocks away from the venue,It's not as if you can hear me, clearlyBringing up on the styles which were ours, nearlyWith help from the stars of the pastEnhanced with your modern day melodiesBeats that kick your ass and you agreeI'm not up here to rock the room aloneStubhystyle pick up the microphoneI'm back by popular demand, some people don't understandWhy I'm laughing fucking up all the shit you plannedCause your motives weren't true and either were youTrying to figure out how I do the things I doA word of advice if you already haven'tGo out, step out, special order some talentDon't say I'm not a musician cause I can hold my ownAnd bitch I play the microphoneOoooh, mama did you hear they want make me superstarOoooh, mama did you hear they're gonna make me a starYou seemed startled by the way that I approach the micBut isn't my tongue spitting out all the things you likeMixing flavors together like Neapolitan, tightClam baking the limousineHe sprinkles on his stardust before he hits the streetA victim of his ego, pop rock societyHis gear is nice and trendy; you got your baggy jeansHe's got a few piercings but nothing to extremeRadio friendly writings is the highway to moneyMaybe we'll be stars if we give them what they needI get twelve percent off the music I makeAnd the image that they're selling you is fake
