Puppets

Jas Mace

I thought a man's supposed to have a heart of his own

But every time she snaps her fingers you come running home

What happened to your vertebra I heard a story yesterday

They said you're wearing matching clothes and looking real gay

Identity theft my man what's next

And you ain't even getting *** a rest haven until the last breath

She wears the pants and leads the dance

It's time to cut the strings you're buying her rings

And you ain't even got enough to pay the rent

All man, she holds your money like a rubber band

If it was love I'd understand

But she's using you man I guess you can't see the plan

She's trying to get rich and not do ****

But manipulate and by the time you realize it's gonna be too late

She gives commands and you sitting there doing it

I guess you're just a puppet, and she's the ventriloquist

Hook

His a puppet, in private and public

Swinging on a string it ain't thing because he love it

His a puppet and don't think nothing of it

Swinging on a string controlled by what's above it

Marchitect & Jas Mace

You started in the basement grinding it out

Spent all your time writing rhymes and never came out the house

Dreamed of big things cars and big rings

Planes with big wings gonna party no doubt

You was real and had the love of the streets

But the streets wasn't enough they made you change your beats

Change your clothes change your rhymes

Now it's too late to even change your mind

They got you throwing gang signs like you're straight out the hood

Had it cracking for a week and now you're played out for good

Singing on all your cuts now you're doing romances

Flaunting money, looking funny doing dances

And that would be cool if it came from your heart

But you're scrambling like a sucker rearranging your art

You started off right there was a time when they was loving it

Can't make your own words can't make your own moves

Hook

You're a puppet, in private and public

Swinging on a string it ain't thing because you love it

You're a puppet and don't think nothing of it

Swinging on a string controlled by what's above it

Marchitect

Rich boy from Texas tried to run the place

Knowing that he wasn't even from the place

New England bred, silver spoon fed

Don't want to do the work he wants to party instead

He want to be like pops with real life props

Nice crib, nice digs, oil rigs, and white yachts

When in the right spot, he soon found out

That black gold buys elections down south

It ain't sweet in the catbird seat

When the puppeteer steers every word you speak

And when you finally got in the house

Enemies popping up like they were Oscar the Grouch

You went too far to turn back

A title of a fool and you rightfully earned that

But I can't get mad at the kat

It ain't him, it's probably all them hands in his back

Hook

You're a puppet, in private and public

Swinging on a string it ain't thing because you love it

You're a puppet and don't think nothing of it

Swinging on a string controlled by what's above it