The 49ers - Puppets lyrics

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 s** 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 sh** 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 s**er 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