So
You've got it figured out?
You think you're happy now?
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 shit
Now I'm pent up with all this rage
Spotlight on my empathy
It's centre stage
So
You've got it figured out?
You think you're happy now?
You'll find how hard reality hits
Life's a bitch
And there's no prenup
So suck it up and fuck the world right back
40 stitch
In my chest
No hits
Burn my money bitch
Pay attention, right?
Where's the lie?
You know I don't know
'Cause life's so fucking shit
Taste it in my spit
Break my fucking lungs
And say it right
Where's the lie
You know I'll just fuckin'...
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
And 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 we (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 this (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 shit
I ain't got time for you, uh
♪
40 stitch
In my chest, no hits
Burn my money, bitch
Pay attention, right?
Where's the lie?
You know I don't know 'cause
Life's so fucking shit
Taste it in my spit
Break my fucking lungs
And say it right
Where's the lie?
You know I'll just fucking
Stick it to 'em
Fill these body bags with these punks
So the plastic don't go to a waste
Killed the game
I arrived at the funeral just to
Spit in its face
To the dead bands with their dead trends
Tryina make ends meet
Without a label force-feeding rotten fruit from a dying tree