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 sex 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 shit
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 sucker 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
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