This song seemingly tackles the methods of deception those who manipulate others use to get victims to follow their demands, as well as diverting attention away from important issues. They'll also use it as a means to convince people to hate or kill others by pretending acts of terrorism were committed by the enemy when the acts themselves were done by the masters of control to promote discrimination and hate. It also reinforces the idea that these manipulative forces operate in various locations, infiltrating everyday life without detection, and propagate any and everywhere.
In general, it highlights the danger of hidden agendas, manipulation, and distraction, serving as a critique of those who exploit chaos and confusion to control and gain power, depicting a cautionary tale against falling into their traps. It encourages us to question the narratives presented to us and remain vigilant against manipulation in various parts of society.
Yeah, hell yeah, know what I'm sayin'?
Yeah
Mista Busta, where the fuck you at?
Can't scrap a lick, so I know you got your gat
Your dick on hard, from fuckin' your road dogs
The hood you threw up with, niggas you grew up with
Don't even respect yo' ass
That's why it's time for the doctor to check your ass, nigga
Used to be my homie, used to be my ace
Now I wanna slap the taste out yo' mouth
Make you bow down to the Row
Fuckin' me, now I'm fuckin' you, little ho
Oh, don't think I forgot, let you slide
Let me ride, just another homicide
Yeah it's me so I'ma talk on
Stompin' on the easiest streets that you can walk on
So strap on your Compton hat, your locs
And watch your back 'cause you might get smoked, loc
And pass the bud and stay low-key
B-G 'cause you lost all your homies' love
Now call it what you want to
You fucked wit' me, now it's a must that I fuck wit' you
(You better raise up)
Yeah, that's what the fuck I'm talkin' about (you better raise up)
We have your motherfuckin' record company surrounded
Put down the candy and let the little boy go (you better, you-you, you better)
You know what I'm sayin'? Punk motherfucker (you better raise up)
(Better raise up) (Dogg)
Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay
Doggy Dogg's in the motherfuckin' house
Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay
Death Row's in the motherfuckin' house
Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay
The sounds of a Dogg brings me to another day
Play, with my bone would you Timmy?
It seems like you're good for makin' jokes about your jimmy
Well here's a jimmy joke about your mama that you might not like
I heard she was a 'Frisco dyke
But fuck your mama, I'm talkin' about you and me
Toe to toe, Tim M-U-T
Your bark was loud but your bite wasn't vicious
And them rhymes you were kickin' were quite bootylicious
You get with Doggy Dogg, oh is he crazy?
With your mama and your daddy hollerin', "Baby"
So what that let you know?
That if you fuck with Dre, nigga you're fuckin' wit Death Row
And I ain't even swangin' them thangs
I'm hollerin', "187" with my dick in yo' mouth, biatch (biatch)
Yeah nigga, Compton and Long Beach together on this motherfucker
So you wanna pop that shit and get yo' motherfuckin' cranium cracked, nigga?
Step on up, now, we ain't no motherfuckin joke so remember the name
Mighty, mighty D-R, yeah, motherfucker (shit done hit the fan) (Dogg)
Now understand this, my nigga Dre can't be touched
Luke's bendin' over, so Luke's gettin' fucked, busta
Musta thought I was sleazy
Or though I was a mark 'cause I used to hang with Eazy
Animosity, made you speak what you spoke (yeah)
Ayo Dre (what up?) Chip this nigga off loc
If it ain't another ho that I gots to fuck with
Gap teeth in ya mouth so my dick's gots to fit
With my nuts on ya tonsils
While you're onstage rappin' at your wack-ass concert
And I'ma snatch yo' ass from the backside
To show you how Death Row pull off that hoo-ride
Now you might not understand me
'Cause I'ma rob you in Compton and blast you in Miami
Then we gon' creep to South Central
On a Street Knowledge mission, as I steps in the temple
Spot him, got him, as I pulls out my strap
Got my chrome to the side of his White Sox hat
You tryin' to check my homie, you best check yo' self
'Cause when you diss Dre you diss yourself, motherfucker
Yeah, nigga
So I don't want no dilapidated, two-faced, pigeon-toed
Bow-legged, cross-eyed son of a gun fuckin' with me (fuckin' with me)
(Oh-ooh)
(Oh, yeah, yeah) Yeah, nine-deuce, Dr. Dre
(Oh) Droppin' chronic once again
(Yeah-yeah, yeah) It don't stop
(Oh) punishing punk motherfuckers real quick like
(Yeah, yeah) Compton style, nigga
Doggy Dogg's in the motherfuckin' house, yeah (I don't, no, no-no-no-no, ayy)
Long Beach is in the motherfuckin' house (Long Beach)
Yeah, yeah (Compton)
Straight up, really doe (Death Row is in the house, yeah)
(Oh-Oh, yeah) Breakin' all them suckas off somethin' real proper-like
You know what I'm sayin'? (Yeah)
(Oh, whoa, whoa) All the sucka-ass niggas can eat a fat dick
(Yeah, yeah) Yeah, Eazy-E, Eazy-E
(Oh, yeah-yeah) Eazy-E can eat a big fat dick
Tim Dog can eat a big fat dick
(Oh-Oh) Luke, can eat a fat dick
Yeah (yeah)
(Oh yeah)
(Oh-oh, yeah, yeah) (Dogg)
(Oh-oh, yeah, yeah-yeah)
(Oh, yeah, yeah)
Yeah
Mista Busta, where the fuck you at?
Can't scrap a lick, so I know you got your gat
Your dick on hard, from fuckin' your road dogs
The hood you threw up with, niggas you grew up with
Don't even respect yo' ass
That's why it's time for the doctor to check your ass, nigga
Used to be my homie, used to be my ace
Now I wanna slap the taste out yo' mouth
Make you bow down to the Row
Fuckin' me, now I'm fuckin' you, little ho
Oh, don't think I forgot, let you slide
Let me ride, just another homicide
Yeah it's me so I'ma talk on
Stompin' on the easiest streets that you can walk on
So strap on your Compton hat, your locs
And watch your back 'cause you might get smoked, loc
And pass the bud and stay low-key
B-G 'cause you lost all your homies' love
Now call it what you want to
You fucked wit' me, now it's a must that I fuck wit' you
(You better raise up)
Yeah, that's what the fuck I'm talkin' about (you better raise up)
We have your motherfuckin' record company surrounded
Put down the candy and let the little boy go (you better, you-you, you better)
You know what I'm sayin'? Punk motherfucker (you better raise up)
(Better raise up) (Dogg)
Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay
Doggy Dogg's in the motherfuckin' house
Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay
Death Row's in the motherfuckin' house
Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay
The sounds of a Dogg brings me to another day
Play, with my bone would you Timmy?
It seems like you're good for makin' jokes about your jimmy
Well here's a jimmy joke about your mama that you might not like
I heard she was a 'Frisco dyke
But fuck your mama, I'm talkin' about you and me
Toe to toe, Tim M-U-T
Your bark was loud but your bite wasn't vicious
And them rhymes you were kickin' were quite bootylicious
You get with Doggy Dogg, oh is he crazy?
With your mama and your daddy hollerin', "Baby"
So what that let you know?
That if you fuck with Dre, nigga you're fuckin' wit Death Row
And I ain't even swangin' them thangs
I'm hollerin', "187" with my dick in yo' mouth, biatch (biatch)
Yeah nigga, Compton and Long Beach together on this motherfucker
So you wanna pop that shit and get yo' motherfuckin' cranium cracked, nigga?
Step on up, now, we ain't no motherfuckin joke so remember the name
Mighty, mighty D-R, yeah, motherfucker (shit done hit the fan) (Dogg)
Now understand this, my nigga Dre can't be touched
Luke's bendin' over, so Luke's gettin' fucked, busta
Musta thought I was sleazy
Or though I was a mark 'cause I used to hang with Eazy
Animosity, made you speak what you spoke (yeah)
Ayo Dre (what up?) Chip this nigga off loc
If it ain't another ho that I gots to fuck with
Gap teeth in ya mouth so my dick's gots to fit
With my nuts on ya tonsils
While you're onstage rappin' at your wack-ass concert
And I'ma snatch yo' ass from the backside
To show you how Death Row pull off that hoo-ride
Now you might not understand me
'Cause I'ma rob you in Compton and blast you in Miami
Then we gon' creep to South Central
On a Street Knowledge mission, as I steps in the temple
Spot him, got him, as I pulls out my strap
Got my chrome to the side of his White Sox hat
You tryin' to check my homie, you best check yo' self
'Cause when you diss Dre you diss yourself, motherfucker
Yeah, nigga
So I don't want no dilapidated, two-faced, pigeon-toed
Bow-legged, cross-eyed son of a gun fuckin' with me (fuckin' with me)
(Oh-ooh)
(Oh, yeah, yeah) Yeah, nine-deuce, Dr. Dre
(Oh) Droppin' chronic once again
(Yeah-yeah, yeah) It don't stop
(Oh) punishing punk motherfuckers real quick like
(Yeah, yeah) Compton style, nigga
Doggy Dogg's in the motherfuckin' house, yeah (I don't, no, no-no-no-no, ayy)
Long Beach is in the motherfuckin' house (Long Beach)
Yeah, yeah (Compton)
Straight up, really doe (Death Row is in the house, yeah)
(Oh-Oh, yeah) Breakin' all them suckas off somethin' real proper-like
You know what I'm sayin'? (Yeah)
(Oh, whoa, whoa) All the sucka-ass niggas can eat a fat dick
(Yeah, yeah) Yeah, Eazy-E, Eazy-E
(Oh, yeah-yeah) Eazy-E can eat a big fat dick
Tim Dog can eat a big fat dick
(Oh-Oh) Luke, can eat a fat dick
Yeah (yeah)
(Oh yeah)
(Oh-oh, yeah, yeah) (Dogg)
(Oh-oh, yeah, yeah-yeah)
(Oh, yeah, yeah)
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I think your first comment is closer to being accurate. The singer/song writers state "Millions of eyes can see, yet why am i so blind!? When the someone else is me, its unkind its unkind". I believe hes referring to the girl toying with him and using him. He wants something deeper with her, thats why he allows himself to be as a puppet (even though for her fun and games) as long as it makes her happy. But he knows deep down that she doesnt really want to be serious with him and thats what makes him.
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Ed Sheeran
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Ed Sheeran shares a short story of reconnecting with an old flame on “American Town.” The track is about a holiday Ed Sheeran spends with his countrywoman who resides in America. The two are back together after a long period apart, and get around to enjoying a bunch of fun activities while rekindling the flames of their romance.
um...they were complimenting the song? how much of a worthless piece of shit do you have to be to call out people you don't even know over a rap track? and keep typing phonetically, it makes you look so hard. go back to your gay gangbang and leave dre's legacy alone. he'd fucking destroy you you worthless piece of shit.