TUNNEL VISION, Fisher Thompson & Tom Laim - LIFE OF THE PARTY

Pour drinks, don't think
Get rich quick, don't be a dick
'Cause you're the life of the party
(Life of the party, life of the party)
Don't flake, rain-date
Half-baked headache, they all fake
But you're the life of the party
(Life of the party, life of the party)
Think that I'm falling off
Spendin' every weekend sitting on a couch
Sticky doubts, quarter ounces got me fucking tweakin'
Got my eyes heavy, maybe I'm just done already
Same games, same names, love 'em but I fuckin' hate it
It's a lost cause, supposed to coast off
So why I gotta hit the gas to keep a smile on?
But the world's spinnin', getting older vision givin'
Movement feelin' rigid
Why's it every time I'm in this room it feels like time stops?
Tell me what you want, tell me what you need
Is it money, is it fame, is it weed?
Just another numbing agent for your dumb-ass life
Only post smokin' on Snap because you're pale-ass white
Meanwhile, people your age catch charges, at-larges
Break cages through anger and rage
Face the pages of criminal law
But not you, 'cause your daddy's the law, right?
Your mama's boyfriend comes, that's adulteration
What else to do when Papa's high speed chasin'?
Oh my God, please, just have an imagination
Give me a few minutes and I'll get you educated
Don't post your grinder on Tinder, you smoke, that's cool
But nobody cares little Kinder, please go vape at school
Brag about the same thing that cites some for possession
And you do it all just to get attention
I'm white with rage, your eyes are red
Don't fuck with me, you'll end up
I see your face and I see red
I wrote this verse and you just
Pour drinks, don't think
Get rich quick, don't be a dick
'Cause you're the life of the party
(Life of the party, life of the party)
Don't flake, rain-date
Half-baked headache, they all fake
But you're the life of the party
(Life of the party, life of the party)
(Why's it every time I'm in this room it feels like time stops?)
In the box
I guess I gotta get out
But it's so hard to get up
But all the people sayin'
I lost my chance to make it
Guess I gotta fucking take it, I ain't ever played to trends
Never catch me usin' Rogaine, I ain't into fakin' ends
Yeah I got a dream, I chased it
Few thousand streams, ain't made it
I don't do this shit for bacon
Can't afford a single strip but it's priority
Gon' do it 'til I die, you aren't ignorin' me
(Look, listen up!)
I've been neglectin' and fakin' facts
The act of it has no end
All the actions they make pretend
All projected off holograms
I can't see your face anymore
Just your mouth and your eyes and your soul
Slippin' out
Of all the bones that kept you whole before
The quicker they come, the faster they leave
Watching comatose, you slip to your knees
Years of hell stuck in your throat
You can't fight that shit with smoke
But you plead, luckily
The reaper gives you second chances in threes
(One, two, three)
Like the late summer sunset
There's something apocalyptic 'bout this
Something cryptic and cult-like,
Something not quite right, let's split
I'm afraid I've been down this road before
'Fraid you'll lose control once you hit the road
'Fraid of what you say you've said you know
'Fraid of these seeds you've sewn, I know
Her makeup's on my sweater, man
Her tears are in my eyes
You promised you'd be better, man
Why am I not surprised?
I wasted all my time
Just to keep you sane
I gave you all my trust
And it was all in vain

Written by:
Fisher Thompson, Thomas Cusson

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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