I got a 6-4 wit' 4 wheels of chrome, I got a platinum necklace and Texas home that looks phat, I carry a gat and all that to define where my bank account's at, it don't mean much cause my spirit is empty, I simply try to fill it by livin' wealthy, I got an unhealthy outlook cause the route took, plus a brown book tellin' me what was trendy, I guess that I'm destined to follow the best trend, surrounded by a group of bodyguards and the yes men, but that was a freshman mistake for a piece of the cake not knowin' that my soul's what it takes, the world's full of fakes, and everybody rates their own by keepin' up with the Jones until we're cousins and clones, lookin' the same, searchin' for fame, losin' the game, identical but answerin' to different names
Chorus:
Throw your hands up to the rhythm of the beat thumpin'
Let the volume resume and keep pumpin'
Everyone pretends, the trends, they keep frontin'
But it's all wack, in fact it don't mean nothin'
I keep my clothes dressed up to date and plus everybody says I'm lookin' great, I must stay fresh, expiration date, can't pass before I change, I've got everything that they say I should, I'm the most up to date in my neighborhood, I got a list of the things that they said was good, but tell me who are they? I give 'em all what they say, who are they all anyway?
