Skip to content
Lyric
Dive
Public playlists
My playlists
Search
Sign in
EdWouldBe
Sound of Rum
Popularity ยท Low
+
๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
0
0
YouTube
Searching YouTube...
Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
He was distant, most distant from himself
Insistent, wanted more from life for himself
His restrictions were vast
But he liked to hide from himself
And yes, he made a lot of hype for himself
But it went to his head
Like a young child sent to his bed
Didn't spend his pride
Till his pride spent him instead
Believe them loose lips yapping all their loose shit
Rapping up a loose spliff
His heart said yes to the compliments
He loved it when they flocked around him
Loved it when they stopped and found him
Jamming at the bar post-show
And he'd play it humble like
"Yeah, see if you're really picky"
But all the while
His arrogance got more and more bloated
Images inside his mind floated
Of how big he would become
When he got properly promoted
Precocious to the point of being hopeless
He hoped that nobody would notice
But me, I noticed
He wants a piece of something that doesn't exist
He wants fame, wants a little weight behind his name
Chasing an elusive, turns delusive
To lunacy, everybody 'round here seems to be something
Would be, has been, smiles full of bad dreams
If it ain't real from the edge to the core
Don't pretend anymore, stop the gimmicks
All about the substance, it's not about the image
All about the substance, it's not about the image
You might be saying words, but you ain't spitting lyrics
Entertaining illusions of grandeur
When his style was, if truth be told, meagre at best
So eager to impress, he makes you feel quite distressed
Kind of guy that speaks before he thinks
Then deeply regrets the things he says
Acts his confidence off, he brags and he boasts
But the one thing that matters the most
That being content, lacking severely
So all he sees in front of him's
The stories makes, not quite, nearlys
He doesn't understand, he's like, "Yo
I got it all, the whole package
I got the looks, I got the attitude"
He don't see, to be real, you've got to be yourself
Not a poorly constructed version of someone else
He's got coloured business cards with pictures of his face
He could swear that it's close enough to taste
It's a shame he doesn't know
'Bout slow and steady wins the race
It's a shame he doesn't know, oh
Wants a piece of something that doesn't exist
Wants fame, wants a little weight behind his name
Chasing an elusive, turns delusive
To lunacy, everybody 'round here seems to be something
Would be, has been, smiles full of bad dreams
If it ain't real from the edge to the core
Don't pretend anymore, stop the gimmicks
All about the substance, it's not about the image
All about the substance, it's not about the image
You might be saying words, but you ain't spitting lyrics at all
ย
I've seen this man fall down
He can't do what he wants to do
He walks 'round getting drunk
Jamming at the bar
Fast approaching twenty-five years
Weak heart, eyes glared
Jamming in the same ends
Chilling with the same friends
Life's going nowhere for him
All he does is blame them
They got lives, they got wives, they got jobs
He's still in his mum's yard feeling lost because
He's on the sniff, he's on the pills, on the MDMA
Demons visit every night, he tries to send them away
But he's got no prospects, no skills, no talents
He's got no motivation left, he's losing his balance
Every night he's fucked, every morning he's embarrassed
Every day, it's either skunk, weed, sess or charas
On the dole, on the madness of them late-night fisticuffs
And ain't the wives a pick-me-up for him?
He's getting twisted up within
He wants to change, stuck in his habits though
Can't take the pain of sobriety
Kicking up the dust outside of society
Addict man, crippled by his own notoriety
Until no one wants to chat no more
They think he's crazy
Twenty-eight now and his future's looking hazy
Skunk's looking up at him like, "Lately, lately"
And he's lying to himself like, "The system didn't take me"
He wants a piece of something that doesn't exist
He wants fame, wants a little weight behind his name
Chasing an elusive, turns delusive
To lunacy, everybody 'round here seems to be something
Would be, has been, smiles full of bad dreams
If it ain't real from the edge to the core
Don't pretend anymore, you need to chill
Your trainers are lovely, mate
But where's your fucking skill?
You might be saying words, but you ain't spitting lyrics at all
It's all about the substance, it's not about the image at all
Stop these gimmicks
You need to chill
Got very nice clothes, but you ain't got too much skill
He plays the battles of bars
And then his face, it bears scars
Suddenly, it seems the kids are listening to guitars and drums
It ain't beats and rhymes, it creeps the streets at times
And imagines how his could've been the
Sweetest heat you'd find in a crate
But now it's too late, it's consumed with hate
For everyone that's better than him
Trying to write a rhyme
But it's like the letters jamming in the pen
The ink refuses to spell a shit phrase
His heart's sick with self-praise
ย