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Correction Lyrics
Luxury Letdown
by
Dropout Kings
Back
Lyrics
So You’ve got it figured out? You think you’re happy now? Yeah you’ll find how hard reality hits Yeah yeah B-b-bounce So You’ve got it figured out? You think you’re happy now? You’ll find how hard reality hits I used to be optimistic that my life wouldn’t fall to sh*t Now I’m pent up with all of this rage Spotlight on my empathy It’s centre stage, uh So You’ve got it figured out? You think you’re happy now? You’ll find how hard reality hits Life’s a b*t*h And there’s no prenup So suck it up and f**k the world right back Fourty st**ch In my chest No hits Burn my money b*t*h Pay attention, right? Where’s the lie? You know I don’t know Cause life’s so f**king sh*t Taste it in my spit Break my f**king lungs And say it right Where’s the lie You know I’ll just f**kin'- Oh, you think I write for you? Oh, you think I write for you? Oh, you think I write for you? You must be deluded if you conceived I was thinking of Who do you want to see hurt? Choke on the worms in the dirt Of the grave your career has left So, you’ve got it figured out? You think you’re happy now? You’ll find how hard reality hits Swallow the bitterness All of my disbelief Brush your teeth with my seed My patience has finally run out So cut me up Take my skin as payment My patience has finally run out My patience has finally run out Death before dishonour My patience has finally run out My patience has finally run out Death before dishonour So You’ve got it figured out? You think you’re happy now? You’ll find how hard reality- So You’ve got it figured out? You think you’re happy now? You’ll find how hard re- B-b-bounce So You've got it figured out? You think you're happy now? You'll find how hard reality hits Something just feels so wrong in here I can’t See through the haze (No, you are not yourself) The poison you exhume (No, you are someone else) Killed off all of the beauty (No, you are not yourself) That was planted here to bloom (No, you are someone else) My patience has finally run out So talk your sh*t I ain’t got time for you Један, два, три, четири, пет, шест, шест, шест Fourty st**ch In my chest, no hits Burn my money, b*t*h Pay attention, right? Where’s the lie? You know I don’t know cause Life’s so f**king sh*t Taste it in my spit Break my f**king lungs And say it right Where’s the lie? You know I’ll just f**king Stick it to 'em Fill the body bags with these punks So the plastic don’t go to a waste (stick it to 'em) Killed the game I arrived at the funeral just to Spit in its face To the dead bands with their dead trends Tryna make ends meat Without a label force-feeding rotten fruit from a dying tree
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