Lyrics Pissed It All Away - Slaine

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