| You’re never really gonna get your way
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| And if you did, you wouldn’t like how it affects your weight
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| Sittin' in your living room depressed all day
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| With your puppy dog eyes and a wet long face
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| Let’s all pray to be rockstars, eh?
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| Wildin' till we’re senile and it rots our brains
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| Till we’re covered up in wrinkles with our locks gone grey
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| Like a bunch a little lost Sharpies
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| And you don’t really wanna live forever with a growing bucket list you’ll never
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| Be halfway on a pathway to tickin' off even if you had your shit together
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| But since you’ll never be perfect, Mr. Right, you gotta settle for Mr. Better
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| You better hope for an ugly stepsister cause you’ll never get with a Cinderella
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| You disappointed now about your self improvement month?
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| No velvet ropes or bouncers, but welcome to the club
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| When your life gets helper skelter it might just help to do some drugs
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| Probably not though, when a squad of cops show up
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| And push your pretty little self into the rug
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| Won’t that be fun when you’re snug in a thug’s hug in a holding cell?
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| Who woulda thought when you go to jail
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| That they still have love for some show and tell?
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| All your buds’ll be overwhelmed and see red until they’re depressed
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| And sleepless fulla regret at the deep breadth of your newfound street cred
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| Trust fund kid get off your soapbox and just admit you’re a Chip Off The Old
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| Blog
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| I’ve been worried about your health
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| Cause I think I might just kill yourself
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| Hope your therapist and your daddy’s wealth
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| Get you through the night when you’re album doesn’t sell
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| Everyone’s a critic or a veggie lovin' cynical
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| Musician on a mission just to better up his image
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| And position in the rat face. |
| Picture him in blackface
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| Bet you’d sink to anything to get another listen
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| In the friendly competition of depression and prescriptions you’re in last place
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| Sedatives and whiskey are so passé
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| You’re a class A butthead who should be living in an ashtray
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| Say that the world ends today in a whirlwind
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| Would a fibber like you admit in high school
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| You had a made up Canadian girlfriend?
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| Pssshht… as if you had anyone fooled!
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| Everyone knew you were never that cool
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| You figured you could fix it if you kept your past tombed
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| So you move to NY and get a tattoo
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| The sad truth sets in as you sit in your dusty apartment
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| You woulda been stuck in the heartland if NY had its own customs department
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| Sad sack suffering artists and unapproachable social climbers
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| Make 'em all genuflect outta pretend respect that they show for his local
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| highness
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| Your shyness, a thing of the past
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| Your ego size is so big that it has its own zip code
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| Situated near the other rich folk
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| It bumps disco and I hear it loves to sniff coke
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| And of course in a short quick stroke, you think you got a little big for your
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| fishbowl
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| You better not read into it, your life’s a Cliff Notes
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| The gist of which is mom and dad’ll fix it if it’s broke
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| Trust fund kid get off your soapbox
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| And come to grips you’re a Chip Off The Old Blog
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| I’ve been worried about your health
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| Cause I think I might just kill yourself
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| Hope your therapist and your daddy’s wealth
|
| Get you through the night when you’re album doesn’t sell
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| I’ve been worried about your health
|
| Cause I think I might just kill yourself
|
| Hope your therapist and your daddy’s wealth
|
| Get you through the night when you’re album doesn’t sell |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Chip Off The Old Blog , by - Louis Logic. Song from the album Look On The Blight Side, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп