American Idols (Featuring Irv Da PHENOM! & Mr. Brown)

[Verse 1 – Dylan Montayne]
Got a thing for the business, what?
Read a book, wouldn’t condone us.
Too much heat for the windows up.
Kid’s hot, call the Mottola’s.
Glad that I’m back, and the kid grown up.
Had to be cracking a big quota.
Had to see the flack all the kids wrote up,
when they get shown up, and they been corrupt.
Never been a pain to stay busy.
Nothing was the same, this ain’t Drizzy.
I got my head on straight, and wouldn’t bet on fate,
but got the bars to make you stay dizzy.
Giving a sh*t what the kids see.
You want a pop star? Put on radio Disney.
You want a rock star, up in a cop car, wanna talk stars.
Think about it: Miley and Lindsay.
Ok, it’s obvious what you want…not me.
All the people gon’ flaunt, got G’s,
all the newest Vuitton’s, (Fe)rrari’s and the bluest Buggat’s.
No sir. In a French-ass restaurant,
take your time with my damn croissant.
I don’t mind if the camera’s off,
economically nonchalant.

[Chorus – Mr. Brown]
So they say they drive a Rolls, acting like a gangsta,
But them just some pranksta, trying to make the paper.
You know they sell their soul via dirty business.
Just a hypocrite they all of them wicked hearted.

[Verse 2 – Dylan Montayne]
I’m a little bit of gold, and a little bit of blue,
and a little bit of flow, and a little bit of cool.
True that, if my goal was to get up in a coupe,
I’d have been up in a New York City with a suit.
And I could done that too easy, too easy,
no reason, please believe me.
All I see are whores for this cheesy,
so I’ll pass on the Morgan Sleazy.
Breeze upon a new Prince,
while you’re busy putting cleaner on your new kicks,
stack ‘em up and take picture like I care, when you Instagram,
all I’m gonna see’s a closet-ruled b*tch.
So unfeasible that you’re rich,
showin’ off, man you need to find a new niche.
Maybe you’re just seeing too many of them flicks
where people are given wealth for not doing sh*t.
How bout this? Try to be original one time,
instead of repeating Lil Wayne’s pitiful punchlines.
I’m about to beat the sucker bully in the lunch line,
while my bro’s saving the world up on the front line.
Oh my, Mama’s sayin’, “What happened to him?
Come on son, you could be a master student!”
Sorry Ma, but I’d rather be a mass influence
to a massive movement of master students.
But wait… they don’t really wanna see me soar,
‘cause Chief Keef bring ‘em to the TV more,
believe me, y’all don’t wanna see me bored,
‘cause I’ll go to KMG and let a king be born.

[Chorus – Mr. Brown]

[Verse 3 – Irv Da PHENOM!]
Oh Mr. DJ, we no want no wack sh*t,
Oh Mr. DJ, turn that real sh*t on.
DJ, DJ, why you no play my son g,
I got that fire sh*t, that sh*t is lukewarm,
But still all I hear on the mothaf*ckin’ radio is wack sh*t on the daily.
It never cease to amaze me, maybe I’m the one that’s crazy,
‘Cause I’m comin’ with some content in my sh*t when I be rhymin’.
I’ve been swept up under the rug, because I don’t talk about enough diamonds.
I don’t throw up enough B’s or C’s, in the booth I don’t do enough lyin’.
Maybe I don’t promote enough violence, or the names of the brands that I’m buying.
I just want to make music for me and my rebels, get smarter and start up a riot.
Underground, mainstream, f*ck ‘em all, same thing.
Lion when I’m rhymin’ in this jungle I remain king… In this jungle I remain king. PHENOM!