| Well, I know this bitch: she thinks she’s a star now
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| Everybody she knows tells her that she’s the best
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| So pretty, cute, fragile — she loves to be loved
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| But stardom has a price and she knows…
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| In order to market herself she’s left all that she was
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| An empty shell of success
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| She bares the strain that she must always perform
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| Sell to sell isn’t too far from whoredom
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| Things will always cost more than they should
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| And it never matter how much money you possessed
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| The question is how much you are willing to concede
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| Capital provides the cheap thrills that we seek
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| So let’s dance!
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| Around the gold calf
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| I’ve got this friend who treats his women like a commodity
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| Only satisfied giving a certain amount of pain
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| His shattered ego tells him to put true love aside
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| Primal urges never to short to be denied
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| This one girl broke his heart a long time ago
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| Regrettably to him they are all now the same
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| Instead he confides in synthetic dreams
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| To bad he never found what could keep him sane
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| Abundance is mundane — consume that makes me ill
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| Our spoiled laughter haunts those in need
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| Nothing for something, fruits that we steal
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| Blessed are the whores that serve all our needs
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| If we had a million dollars we’d still use it on shit!
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| Is this real? |
| It must be — our money tells us so!
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| Applied materialism is the easiest way to go
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| Take the big cake — orgy of consumption
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| What do we care in this world of destruction…
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| We are all wrapped up in our selfish selves
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| Prisoners of our personal vanity
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| We feed on perfect images we know are fake
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| They say reflections never lie
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| We know it’s decadence! |