I don't want no picture with the president
I just wanna talk to the man
Speak for the boys in the bando
And my nigga never walkin' again
Apologize if I'm harpin' again
I know these things happen often
But I'm back on the scene
I was lost in a dream as I write this
The team down in Austin
I been buildin' me a house
Back home in the South, ma
Won't believe what it's costin'
And it's fit for a king, right?
Or a nigga that could sing
And explain all the pain that it cost him
My sixteen should've came with a coffin
Fuck the fame and the fortune
Well, maybe not the fortune
But one thing is for sure though
The fame is exhaustin'
That's why I moved away, I needed privacy
Surrounded by the trees and Ivy League
Students that's recruited highly
Thinkin' "You do you and I do me"
Crib has got a big 'ol back 'ol yard
My niggas stand outside and pass cigars
Filled with marijuana, laughin' hard
Thankful that they friend's a platinum star
In the driveway there's no rapper cars
Just some shit to get from back and forth