Tyler: Hey Axel, or is that even your real name?
How does it feel to be completely overwhelmed by fame?
How’s your head, dude, not feeling too big?
I would hope not, I mean, it’s already pretty thick.
You strut around and wave around and offer autographs,
meanwhile here I am, dropping rhymes in endless different paragraphs.
Axel: Oh you were talking? Oops I didn’t hear you.
I got distracted, fans and success, know how it goes, don’t you?
Bear with me, countless albums don’t just sell themselves,
in fact, I’d bet you have at least one on your shelves.
Oh and by the way how’s the drawing going with all of its mechanics?
Will I see you in the Louvre on my next trip to Paris?
No? Really? Ooh that one’s a shocker.
Here, to feel better, tickets to my show, come see a real rocker.
Tyler: I’ve heard your songs, dude, and let me just say,
if you’ve listened to one, you’ve heard the whole array.
In five years when I’m visiting my paintings in the Met,
you’ll get asked, “Sorry, you’re Axel who? Don’t think we’ve ever met.”
Go on, pretend that you don’t care, man,
but the fact is, not everyone’s a fan.
Axel: You see, I find that one hard to believe.
I mean, knowing how great I am, it would be naïve.
And hey, check it out, I’m not even breathless
and yet my sick rhymes have already left you helpless.
The truth is that when all is said and done,
I have my fame and glory, are you at least having fun?
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