FV - Fake Tits/Ghosts lyrics

Who you think I am?

Why don't you tell me who
You're supposed to be
'Cause you're a pair of fake tit's on
A ghost to me
You aren't even half-real but most
Of you freaks
Seem to be holding a belief that
You were chosen to be
The Messiah, huh, a bunch of mice and liars
I'll confront you silly guys
Set your wives on fire
You're not who you think you are
You're not rebels and fighters
But you're still exposing me
To your irrelevant IQ's
Fake fucks, see American Idol, I would
Much rather leave and ride to hell on a bike
Fool those people should be charged
Like felons and iced, too
I'm not harsh, maybe the devil's a nice dude
My rhymes, they're not medicine, mind you
They can heal your soul, but
They can tear it apart, too
I'm a motherfucking liar
But I hate being lied to
I'm a hypocrite, shit, I'm a hellish disciple
I'm not an idol, I'm merely a guy who
Keeps track of his own thoughts
Man, I'm letting my mind move
If I don't succeed, brother, fuck your needs
Fuck the world, fuck the kids, fuck the girls
I'm getting mad now
Something struck my nerves
Looks like I gotta calm down, puff some herb
Listen, head, you're out of luck, you heard?
Heart turned to the brain
Said: "Fuck you neeeeeeerd" (Yeeah)
'Cause it's not your turn, so act
Like a damned soul, brother, drop and burn
Some things just never change
Like they're rocking a perm
And this is just one of the lessons
You've forgotten to learn i got some news:
If you follow the herd usually the case is
You abolish your views, you see
If what I'm saying is appalling to you
It's okay
Just have some decency, don't call me a fool
You freak hate spewed with a horrible tone
But I will never listen to it
I'm immortal in stone
Because I am still growing strong
Like my horrible poems
So bring the fire, baby boy
I gotta roast the opponents (yeah)
You keep knocking on the wrong address
Like the Jehovah boy saying that
His God's the best mick, jaggering me
Can't you hear me knocking?
I don't give a fuck and
The whole village is talking
I'm mine, not your somebody
3 o'clock, get your books, go home and study
Be a man, get a job, bring home the money
I don't want your lifestyle
'cause you folks are lonely
And mostly phony and most of
You don't even know me
So go teach somebody else
About this false baloney
You're forcing on me
I'mma pause your boring monologues
'Cause, oh my god, I am grossly stunning
Fake tit's on ghosts, yet awfully boring
Take a lookie here
I even look awesomely yawning
You call yourself the boss quite a lot
But i would like you stop
You're like Michael Scott but not even funny