I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us, this is I live on the west side of America How many likes is my life worth? I'm from the east side of America They say that I am the sick boy Feed yourself with my

Pushing little children, With their fully automatics, They like to push the weak around, They like to push the weak around. Push the weak around, Beyond the Staples Center you can see America, With its tired, poor, avenging disgrace, Peaceful, loving

I am the, I am the, I am the sick boy And we can pick sides, but this is us, this is us, this is I live on the west side of America How many likes is my life worth? I'm from the east side of America They say that I am the sick boy Feed yourself with my

Somewhere in America Hey girl, help me if you can I'm coming to you with my heart in my hand Give me love, I'm starved for affection All I need is just a little direction somewhere cross the sea she waits for me

This is the last cowboy song The end of a hundred year Waltz The voices sound sad as they're singin' along Another piece of America's lost He rides the feed lots, clerks in the markets On weekends sellin' tobacco and beer And his dreams of tomorrow,

Don't get it fucked up I do this shit for my, I do this shit for my Yesterday was the freshest nigga in America I swear to God I ain't lyin' bruh, I ain't lyin' bruh Niggas talkin' bout oh shit I pull up they like oh shit Now look whose talkin', bitch

Hey oh wow oh I'm down on my line I'm new in the city I'm lost in the world I'm up in the woods Down for the night, down for the night Who will survive in America? I'm building a still

Young black America Yeah, I was on that corner, tryna get my coins up Coppers run up on us and we turn to Jackie Joyner White man kill a black man, they never report us Black man kill a white man, they gon' start a war up Mama she was sour, sippin' on

This is the last cowboy song The end of a hundred year Waltz The voices sound sad as they're singin' along Another piece of America's lost He rides the feed lots, clerks in the markets On weekends sellin' tobacco and beer And his dreams of tomorrow,

We don't always say what we mean My youth is the foundation of me So wake me up in the Spring From the city of the 915 Where all the girls are pretty And they're down for the hype All my boys are with me Going up for the night But who cares, who cares