He smiles like he just doesn’t care
Showing off his grills, spitting mad flows
Behind closed doors it’s a different predicament
He’s not used singing lyrics; disrespecting women,
Encouraging violence, substance and drug abuse.
His manager says he has to keep up with the “trend”
Least he fall prey to becoming “perishable.”
He’s giving the world what it wants, hiding behind Photoshop.
Hours at the gym could not make her look like her idol
Dieting and salads could not turn her into a model
While I steadily digitally enhance the magazine cover
Making her virtually flawless, the perfect poster
Girl next door just wants to tickle my fancy
Cellulite and love handles have her feeling ugly
She goes under the knife and tones up with a instagram filter
She knocks, I open, what can I say or do, I don’t recognise her