text: Fuck Steve Harvey
  This life is a game if you wanna play, counting all your old mistakes
  Living it with no delay, so fast Im getting growing pains
  Father didnt show me my instincts to take the open lane
  I go insane, all these problems comin with my growing age
  Blowing haze, tryna clear the doubt thats sitting on my brain
  I dont complain but the kid inside mes feeling so restrained
  Gotta stay gold and let desire rekindle the flame
  Searching for the Fountain of Youth when Im freein my brain
  Bring in the horns, you hear that fucking brass?
  Thats little boy nigga with the trumpets
  Marching with the bandwagon, looking for his heart
  No sleeve, but his hand carry muskets
  Lurking in the meadows, oblivion
  Motherfuck Geppetto, hes a leader, not a puppet
  Some professors nuttier than Klumps dick
  So think before you blink and aye-aye make assumptions
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  They want a story, a story I write the shit that I find
  Very amusing, cause all of they fucking stories are boring
  Its really awkward to know that a bunch of kids do adore me
  Its like I fathered these fuckers, so you wont find me on Maury
  Im still a kid in my heart so I have a problem maturing
  But it will come from experiences and shit I see touring
  Im like a bird when Im soaring, really high
  And Im really horny, from watching this porn, nope, but
  Bring in the horns, you hear that fucking brass?
  Thats little boy nigga with the trumpets
  Marching with the bandwagon, looking for his heart
  No sleeve, but his hand carry muskets
  Lurking in the meadows, oblivion
  Motherfuck Geppetto, hes a leader, not a puppet
  Some professors nuttier than Klumps dick
  So think before you blink and aye-aye make assumptions
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  Your left, your left, your left, right left
  5, 4, 3, 2, and wheres Tyler?
  Bottom of the countdown, shit aint been the same
  Since I found out Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow Wow
  Now I’m the loud, shock value style, foul-mouth fucker
  That your teenage kid likes to bow down
  Riding around town in Seattle
  With the same shotgun that Kurt used to click-clack, boom-pow
  Still suicidal but some assume that Im cool now
  Cause I got a fucking award and my own room now
  Nope, but I can flip shit like a couch pillow
  And have my death silent like a loose vowel
  The bandwagon turned into caboose, so
  So, dont let that little nigga trumpet lose sound
  Just let him play