Call Me 'Big Sleazy'

Should you or I be more hurt

That I had to be a sell-out to sell out concerts?

I once did try to take the art route,

But I couldn't pay my rent, so my landlord kicked me out.

And you all jived to songs, with no meaning, but profanities.

So they want drivel, I thought, sounds like a plan to me!

Lo and behold, I was right,

My lyrics are senseless, but my bank account's tight.

I glorify the wonder of smoking pot on yachts,

Whilst I invest my money in profitable lots.

I profit from the fantasy my legion has sought.

I love my fans' (cash), so I won't burst their bubbles.

They can buy my merchandise and sleep on rubble.

Please do sound bombastic, like my raps.

Forgo poetry, give me snaps.

'Cause I'm a leech

Draining your wallet as you dream of supple 'hos' on the beach.

Who knows what message my lyrics preach?

Who really even cares?

Our world could be fair, 

But we take--we don't share. 

I stepped on heads to to get up here from down there

And I repay those heads as a snake would a hare.