Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pissed It All Away, artist - Slaine.
Date of issue: 18.08.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Pissed It All Away |
Yeah, yeah |
I don’t wanna be famous |
I just wanna be rich |
Just forget what my name is |
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah |
My nose scabbing up from sniffing, I had enough |
And I had enough of rapping, I used to have it rough |
I was mad at fuckin' life, thinking I was bad at luck |
I had a fuckin' wife, I was always up at night |
In the hallways I would write with the vengeance |
And the engines of depression, they were revving |
Go to sleep at seven |
Wake up at whenever, it’s my little slice of heaven |
This is who I dreamed of being ever since eleven |
Pills rattle in my script bottles and I love the sound |
Momma, I’ma go and get high — Ain’t never coming down |
Momma I’ma rock star, momma I’m a fool |
On TV but I never took no drama in a school |
See me when I walk around, really you’re the last |
Snap pictures of my fat face, want my autograph |
I should watch what I’m saying cause it’s reaching the kids |
But I’m drunk all the time and I speak what I live |
I just wanna be rich, bitch |
I don’t wanna be famous |
I don’t believe in my own hype |
Or your lies either, I just know what the game is |
So when they lay me six feet deep |
Trust me, this is all to say |
How he came from the bottom and he rose to the top |
Then he pissed it all away |
Is he, is he dead? |
Is he drunk? |
Is he dizzy? |
Is he really illy illy as he says? |
Is he really |
Getting busy? |
Is he all around the world with a skizzy |
From the city that he reps? |
Yeah — He’s still there getting shitty on the steps |
Juke you with the right, then he hit you with the left |
Hit you with a pistol |
Get you, split you ripping through your flesh |
It’s habitual, it’s visceral assisting you with death |
I’m positioning the christening, a baby with the rabies |
It’s a vicious thing, it’s crazy |
Piss my life away on a lazy |
Sunday afternoon with a dime on the Patriots |
A hoodrich junkie with the mind of an atheist |
So what’s the make and the model of the pot you piss in? |
When your Cadillac is repo’ed, your chart position |
Is dropping low enough to cause a fucking heart condition |
You’re a middle aged overweight rock musician |
Narcissism is dark — It’s a harsh condition |
Once the glory and people kissing your ass is missing |
Now your blood is in the water and the sharks are fishing |
Public tearing you apart with the stock precision |
See, once upon a time you had to cling to the fame |
And became another figure with a name |
Used to be a lay-up on your way up |
Now you’re struggling to stay up |
Tell the player no one’s bigger than the game |
So I wouldn’t be the first and I’d hardly be the last |
Out in Hollywood on molly, but I’ll probably be as trash |
Parlay with the rich with Bacardi in my glass |
With the audience that left for a party in the past |