Anderson Scott:
The crowd jumps to their feet/ Whistling, screaming, standing on their seats/ The aforementioned fans follow him like a fleet/ On twitter praying that he acknowledges them in his tweets/ But on the low-low discreet, the minute he retreats/ backstage he’s sticking needles in his bicep meat/ He has everything to lose, still he gambles every night/ In his performance, he staggers to their delight/ Then one night, he stops at a light, and thought that it would be the right time for him to hit a pipe/ He pulls a sack of rocks out of his thousand dollar socks/ about to put the flame to it, then (shit) here comes the cops/ He’s face down on the block while the audience watch/ Twitpic-ing the shit, sending emails to Fox/ The beast he created turned to attack him, they stopped laughing with him, and started laughing at him..

Imago Dei:
In high school he was the class clown/ He got no reason to laugh now
He was known for shucking and jiving/ they called it cooning, he called it surviving/ you shoe sizing, try these on/ And see don't your feet get corns/ An abundance of fungus and bunions/ His life's a tear jerking like snorting on onions// mama was a junky, daddy was a drunk/ Use to punch him in the face to make sure he wasn’t a punk/ Use to punch mamma to, never gave a reason/Sent him to his room. At night he hear her screaming/ So when he make em laugh, he’s running from his past/ And nightmares of his child hood coming for his ass/
Masking the tears as his life becomes a parody/ Pills for the soul, funny therapy/


Anderson Scott:
Rappers get to beefing and reporters start cheesing/ Their quarterly report says “This is our season”/ A singer OD’s, an athlete cheats/ AND some rappers got beef? This shit is sweeps/ Send a couple cameras, edit a few quotes/ Write a blog and retweet verbatim what you wrote/ But what you wrote, got somebody shot- / Now you’re blogging about how the violence needs to stop..

Imago Dei:
As the jail doors lock, reality sets in/ on the reality star who thought fame was his best friend/ flexing at the guard, he said you know who I am/ The guard said no and I don’t give a damn/ Man, a year ago the crazy antic/ Had the crowd enchanted and the ratings gigantic/ Now frantic in a cell with nobody to call/ I guess the quicker they rise the harder they fall/