Entitled

It's cool that you've got money,
Stacking up in piles;
But man, I find it funny
That you can't ever smile.
You think you have the answers,
And you think this is a joke;
I may stretch my mind a lot,
But you're the one that's broke.

I know you got opinions;
And yelling is your habit,
But dammit, when I ask it,
have right at it, start your yappin'.
Til then I ask a favor,
It's really gotta happen,
Shut the fuck up, fix yourself,
In every form and fashion.

Before you point your fingers,
Remember where they've been,
I know the thoughts still linger,
Somewhere underneath your skin.
Before the blame game happens,
Don't forget your matches,
You burn your bridges fast,
Caught with red hands from your past actions.

My words are like a hydrant,
And I ain't scared to use em',
I've been helping my friends,
And you choose to abuse em'.
So in our closing moments,
Just know you're made of shit,
And even at the smallest taste,
You'd make a hooker spit.