Stars
We need stars 'cause we need stars in this world.
One who wakes up, bakes up, says "
What the fuck", kicks on the makeup.
Around six, sick.
After soundcheck has kinky sex with both sexes and fixes up quick.
One with sock cocks, one who rocks.
Hardcore porn and mediocre music sucks.
Guitar heroes crashing luxury cars in high heels like girls kiss.
Oh yes.
One with questionable sexual preferences.
Off the wall biblical references says the sciples on the guest list.
Wears a dress ridiculous tells us they love us.
Divorces, overdoses, riding wild white horses to Betty Ford courses.
One in headlines finds dimes find expensive wines.
Interviews decline.
A decent overexposure.
Fortunes of plastic noses.
Girls we want.
Posers.
We need stars 'cause we need stars in this world.
One who fucks straight to the fucking top and then fucking stops fucking.
Throws everyone off.
Less time in recording sessions, more time in photo sessions.
Impressing with undressing lessons there are ten ways now show us eleven.
With mile high hair, blank empty stare, guess what they wear, as they fall down the stairs and what that says.
They don't fucking care.
Look at the lazy days, the gaze insane and crazy.
It don't phase them.
One with agents and lawyers gallore, people on the payroll who score for them, women, men.
Gigantic binges, singes, ending in syringes and everyone who cringes in their presence, even next of Kim.
One who knows no limit and often exceeds it at any request or any expense.
Scandals, handlers, fluffers hanging from chandeliers.
Oh mansions they havent even seen yet.
Queers.
One who flies coach is an atrocious joke.
First class it's all business and something ridiculous, quick with a twist.
I want solid server steps, private layer jets with logos on it and hardened cigarettes and chairs of velvet.
One who sells millions and fucks their fans.
Outrageous wardrobes.
Travels the globe and strode and doesn't know what day it is.
One who sells millions again, blows kisses to the cynic critcs and still fucks their fans.
Mystical, egotistical, and most of all, dies an untimely death.
One who wakes up, bakes up, says "
What the fuck", kicks on the makeup.
Around six, sick.
After soundcheck has kinky sex with both sexes and fixes up quick.
One with sock cocks, one who rocks.
Hardcore porn and mediocre music sucks.
Guitar heroes crashing luxury cars in high heels like girls kiss.
Oh yes.
One with questionable sexual preferences.
Off the wall biblical references says the sciples on the guest list.
Wears a dress ridiculous tells us they love us.
Divorces, overdoses, riding wild white horses to Betty Ford courses.
One in headlines finds dimes find expensive wines.
Interviews decline.
A decent overexposure.
Fortunes of plastic noses.
Girls we want.
Posers.
We need stars 'cause we need stars in this world.
One who fucks straight to the fucking top and then fucking stops fucking.
Throws everyone off.
Less time in recording sessions, more time in photo sessions.
Impressing with undressing lessons there are ten ways now show us eleven.
With mile high hair, blank empty stare, guess what they wear, as they fall down the stairs and what that says.
They don't fucking care.
Look at the lazy days, the gaze insane and crazy.
It don't phase them.
One with agents and lawyers gallore, people on the payroll who score for them, women, men.
Gigantic binges, singes, ending in syringes and everyone who cringes in their presence, even next of Kim.
One who knows no limit and often exceeds it at any request or any expense.
Scandals, handlers, fluffers hanging from chandeliers.
Oh mansions they havent even seen yet.
Queers.
One who flies coach is an atrocious joke.
First class it's all business and something ridiculous, quick with a twist.
I want solid server steps, private layer jets with logos on it and hardened cigarettes and chairs of velvet.
One who sells millions and fucks their fans.
Outrageous wardrobes.
Travels the globe and strode and doesn't know what day it is.
One who sells millions again, blows kisses to the cynic critcs and still fucks their fans.
Mystical, egotistical, and most of all, dies an untimely death.
Credits
Writer(s): Todd Stanford Trainer
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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