Since I'm in a position to talk to these kids and they listen I ain't no politician, but I'll kick it with 'em a minute 'Cause see, they call me a menace and if the shoe fits, I'll wear it But if it don't, then y'all'll swallow the truth, grin and bear it Now who's the king of these rude, ludicrous, lucrative lyrics? Who could inherit the title, put the youth in hysterics Usin' his music to steer it, sharin' his views and his merits? But there's a huge interference, they're sayin' you shouldn't hear it Maybe it's hatred I spew, maybe it's food for the spirit Maybe it's beautiful music I made for you to just cherish But I'm debated, disputed, hated and viewed in America As a motherfuckin' drug addict, like you didn't experiment? Now, now, that's when you start to stare at who's in the mirror And see yourself as a kid again, and you get embarrassed And I got nothin' to do but make you look stupid as parents You fuckin' do-gooders, too bad you couldn't do good at marriage (Haha) And do you have any clue what I had to do to get here? I don't think you do, so stay tuned and keep your ears glued to the stereo 'Cause here we go, he's Jigga-Jur-Jigga-Jih-Jigga And I'm the sinister Mr.

Brand new remix from myself and Greg Stainer: Connect with Scott Forshaw: ▶▶/scottforsh Connect with Greg Stainer: ▶▶twitter.Motherfuckers say that I'm foolish, I only talk about jewels (Bling-bling) Do you fools listen to music or do you just skim through it? See, I'm influenced by the ghetto you ruined The same dude you gave nothin', I made somethin' doin' What I do through and through and I give you the news with a twist, it's just his ghetto point of view The renegade, you been afraid I penetrate pop culture Bring 'em a lot closer to the block where they pop toasters And they live with they moms, got dropped roadsters From botched robberies, niggas crouched over Mami's knocked up 'cause she wasn't watched over Knocked down by some clown When child support knocked, 'No, he's not around' Now, how that sound to ya? Jot it down I bring you through the ghetto without ridin' 'round Hidin' down, duckin' strays from frustrated youths stuck in they ways Just read a magazine that fucked up my day How you rate music that thugs with nothin' relate to it? I help them see they way through it, not you Can't step in my pants, can't walk in my shoes Bet everything you worth, you'll lose your tie and your shirt

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