Broadcast talking words, real words, painful words make you look so cheap
You can't stand on your own, and I have ceased to care
Digging, digging deeper for your precious heir
Discredit, the job's too easy and so painful and way too fucking real
The dirt is on your hands, the blood is on your hands
And I can see right through them
You're only a receptacle for me, respectability is a weapon of the "in" scene
Dirt is law, new is wrong, can't we just let all this fall out of our laps again?
How many sorries does it take?
Well I'm sorry, yeah so sorry that you weren't cool enough
Lies time pray for your inheritance, preys on their life.