too much lyrics – cage

blue collar to corporate blessed the unfortunate
like when i put my foot down that b*tch still aborted it
stuck the canister under my jacket like the lucky one
‘uh, sir you can’t leave with that,’ b*tch this my f*cking son!
put with the gun crammed in the glovebox
with 151 drum bottles, i don’t drink, they gettin’ flung
with lit rags in it, kill 10 step-dads a minute
still won’t be a star till the label as a gimmick
even if i limit timid com-mi-tive cynics
each one famous suicide at gunpoint to mimic
you too can be a mock-celeb or the last there is
or be ghost like money that played casper in kids
i put a sick twist every other frame design so
you see aids victims selling pretzels at a slideshow
with a nine shown i brand and skin ’em
run out of punchlines when you kids stop standin’ in ’em

yo chris i think they think you know too much
yeah sis i think you put c*ke up your nose too much
they cut my hands off so i couldn’t hold too much
they try to kill me through my d*ck with these hoes too much
you stack dough too much
you smack hoes too much
well you can blame it on the mint leaves i roll too much
they cut my hands off so i couldn’t hold too much
don’t stand off, bullet holes show too much

they see weed on dust with an ounce a pound
is like jumping out of building grabbing napkins on the way down
my impant i scarred, i’m anti-star
though i shine like one buried underground with yall
and i tried to learn good just wasn’t concerned, should
i really be on my sixth bottle of wormwood
my skin is burnin’ blisternin’ aloe ow
dragged this big fat b*tch in to see shallow hal
i drink jack puff black in orange county
bought a gun with a body to stick in this wh*r*’s audi
knew this kid craze he would stick dope on a chick open ha’
then i changed my name to cage like nick coppola
all these snakes with these forked tongues st*tched together
after i put down the pepper i switch the weather
whatever rights they want to shrug off for safety feelin’ taken
for a rabbi appearance cuz they kneelin’ to satan


then, i stepped over the bl**dy axe frame with wax fame
rogue pistol runnin’ through new york like max payne
out shootin’ celebs, i’m rootin’ for feds
in a pit of lions then we sip shoot from the heads
i run with maniacs liable to kill at any minute then
i wonder why i can’t shake this insanity image
it’s been a dead cage since i’ve strapped to beds
and shot up with needles and five since i put gas to heads
you was b*tch in high school no rep no threat
riding my jacket like i’m a hand off the fans at coat check
haters want to put they b*tches up no stress
like your life in the monitor box behind the desk
i scribble sh*t on paper, pay rent, look at nature
see a menage before lunch, them b*tches are ravers
drive blazers, still inside my north face
drippin’ formaldahyde and short-circuit my tazer


/ cage lyrics