text: I guess you think you know the story
  You dont, the real one is much too gory
  The phony one, the only one you know
  Was cooked up years and years ago
  And made to sound all soft and sappy
  Just to keep the children happy
  Twisted fiction, sick addiction
  Gather round children, zip it, listen
  Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
  I fantasized bout this back in Chicago
  Mercy, mercy me, that Murcielago
  Thats me, the first year that I blow
  How you say broke in Spanish? Me no hablo
  Me drown sorrow in that Diablo
  Me found bravery in my bravado
  DJs need to listen to the models
  You aint got no fuckin Yeezy in your Serato?
  You aint got no Yeezy, nigga?
  Stupid, but what the fuck do I know?
  Im just a Chi-town nigga with a Nas flow
  And my bitch in that new Phoebe Philo
  So much head, I woke up to Sleepy Hollow
  Can we get much higher?
  Oh, oh, oh
  Oh, oh, oh, oh
  Look like a fat booty Celine Dion
  Sex is on fire, Im the King of Leon-a Lewis
  Beyond the truest, hey, teacher, teacher
  Tell me how do you respond to students?
  And refresh the page and restart the memory?
  Re-spark the soul and rebuild the energy?
  We stopped the ignorance, we killed the enemies
  Sorry for the night demons that still visit me
  The plan was to drink until the pain over
  But whats worse, the pain or the hangover?
  Fresh air, rollin down the window
  Too many Urkels on your team, thats why your wins low
  Dont make me pull the toys out, huh
  Dont make me pull the toys
  And fire up the engines
  And then they make noise
  Can we get much higher?
  Oh, oh, oh
  Oh, oh, oh, oh
  At the mall, there was a seance
  Just kids, no parents
  Then the sky filled with herons
   in a Chrysler LeBaron
  And the hell, it wouldnt spare us
  And the fires did declare us
  But after that, took pills, kissed an heiress
  And woke up back in Paris
  Can we get much higher?
  Oh, oh, oh
  Oh, oh, oh, oh