Chip Off The Old Blog-Louis Logic

Chip Off the Old Blog - Louis Logic 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 sh*t 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 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