Spitfall

(album: Falling Home - 2014)

[1: Introducing Star]

(We saw you every day)
With your hands on your crotch and so much to say
You went from bouncing toy cars with golden motors
To neon striped BMWs and a court of drugged up nodders and quoters
Namefucking fame on all photos,
All cheered on and applauded by even richer promoters
Now when you're a star, when you've reached this far
And the world really knows who you are
You show off your six black Mercedeses and drink Cristal like they all do
And the poor outside your gates appall you,
And the only hood you see is the one on your car
Do you even have a clue as to who you are?
Bro, I don't think so
I mean Mercedes, well, you know...

I'm sick of hearing you preach to the poor like before,
Only now you're a coward, only letting TV through your door
Getting older, take a bow and just go
The rage on the stage getting colder like your hits on the chart,
But then the talk shows can still get you hard
Doing rhymes on your prime time fistfights
And spitting grime in the limelight like a star gets a chip off your shoulder,
A boulder that rolls and rolls over and over and over

There's nothing like a broken childhood
There's nothing like a broken home
There's nothing like a tale from your hood
There's nothing like a record of restriction orders
Outspoken borderline disorders, a violent long way to the top
The longer that you fought yourself up, the longer the spitfall

[2: Thus Quote The Craving]

You're so fucking lost that with all of the costs
You still don't see that in reality
The one thing you fail to buy yourself is a personality
You're trapped in a mould of the rap, you sell but you're sold
I mean, can't believe that you're paying all that gold to some home decorator that hands you buckets of conformity
Seems you're losing your way together with your policy man,
Ending up with a new definition of poverty it's a joke
Like those you make in every video to reach the kids with the dough,
With every copied "aha yo" and worn out "bro"
Guess what we need is yet another clown who can feed our breed with another look and hooker hook
Now when "bitch" is mundane you take the lead with "wassup ho" and let TV blur your mouth once more
Just what we need in every store, thus quote the craving: "forever more!"
You're so right a shiny knight on a white steed, truly a hero
Yeah right
Fuck you fuck you right down to the core!
You know what? You're just another "Parental Advisory" bore!

There's nothing like a broken childhood
There's nothing like a broken home
There's nothing like a tale from your hood
There's nothing like a record of restriction orders
Outspoken borderline disorders, a violent long way to the top
The longer that you fought yourself up, the longer the spitfall...
The longer the spitfall...

[4: Man Of The Masses]

You're a man of the masses, took all the classes
Their asses are yours
All those bores who are paying the bills for your palace uphills
And your pills that will help you proceed in your greed
You are free of the chains that you need on your fans to adore, to kneel down before you,
More precious to you than your brains and your hands
They live for you!
If you could just see this old tree, this patriarchic hierarchy, up where you want to be, you need miles of roots to lick your boots
Don't you see?
You're a man of the masses, you need all those asses, their fate to relate to the one that you were
Do you know who you are? Who are you? Not the one in your words that they buy
They concur, you conquer, though a natural flunker,
You need them to stay not fly, to obey like the dogs that they are, the cogs under the hood of your Mercedes car
They will pay for your trip to the stiff upper lip
You're a man of the masses, your trip is a journey through classes
You are high, they are low, and you need it to be so
See, without them you'd be nothing more than before, and you know that's not much
It's just or unjust such: just a sad little man with his hand on his crotch

There's nothing like a broken childhood
There's nothing like a broken home
There's nothing like a tale from your hood
There's nothing like a record of restriction orders
Outspoken borderline disorders, a violent long way to the top
The longer that you fought yourself up, the longer the spitfall...
The longer the spitfall...
The longer the spitfall...
The longer the spitfall...

When you're rapping your shit y'all