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