Sam Is Dead

[Verse 1: Domo]
This life is a game, if you wanna play, counting all your own mistakes
Living it with no delay, so fast I'm getting growing pains
Father didn't show me my instincts to take the open lane
I go insane, all the problems come with my growing age
Blowing haze, tryna clear the doubt that's sitting on my brain
I don't complain but the kid inside me's feeling so restrained
Gotta stay golden, let desire rekindle the flame
Searching for the Fountain of Youth, when I'm free in my brain

[Bridge]
Bring in the horns, you hear that [bad word] brass?
That's little boy [bad word] with the trumpets
Marching with the bandwagon
Looking for his heart, no sleeve but his hand carry muskets
Working in the meadows, Oblivion [bad word] Geppetto, he's a leader, not a puppet
Some professors nuttier than Klump's [bad word] So think before you blink and "Aye-Aye" make assumptions

[Hook]
Niggas! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)
Niggas is coming! (Your left! Your left! Your left, right, left!)

[Verse 2: Tyler]
They want a story - a story? I write the [bad word] That I find very amusing cause all the other [bad word]  stories are boring
It's really awkward to know, that a bunch of kids do adore me
It's like I fathered these [bad word]  so you will find me on Maury
I'm still a kid in my heart, so I have a problem maturing
But it will come from experiences and [bad word] I see touring
I'm like a bird when I'm soaring, really high
And I'm really horny, from watching this [bad word] . nope, but

[Bridge] + [Hook]

[Interlude]
5, 4, 3, 2, and where's Tyler?

[Verse 3: Tyler]
Bottom of the countdown, [bad word] ain't been the same
Since I found out Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow-Wow
Now I'm the loud, shot, body-styled, foul mouth [bad word] 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 I'm cool now
Cause I got a [bad word]  award in my own room now
Nope, but I can flip [bad word] like a couch pillow
And have my death silent like a loose vow
The bandwagon turned into caboose, so
So, don't let that little [bad word] trumpet lose sound, just let him play