TV Dinner Songtext
von Sam Fender
TV Dinner Songtext
Hypothesize a hero′s rise and teach them all to then despise
It is our way to make a king, romanticize how they begin
Fetishize their struggling, while all the while they're suffering
In every worming memory of what they truly are
The rigmarole, the tortured soul, the constant spin, the merry-go
Roundhouse-kick into the face, sheer loss of private space
The moths, the snakes, the tiny waistcoat tail riders suck the grace
And little color out my face, the cancer in a padlock case
No one gets into my space
No one gets into my space
The market before anything, the darkest days are yet to sing
Like Winehouse, she was just a bairn, they love her now but bled her then
They reared me as a class clown, grass fed little cash cow
I cashed out, headed hell bound, and now they point and laugh
No one gets into my space
No one gets into my space
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
No one gets in
I′ll sell my story when it's true, I'll paint a pretty pic of you
I′ll walk amongst the ones who walk and talk when I am born
I′m in the embryonic state, on borrowed time I clean my plate
With a TV dinner I spectate, the fucks all gesticulate
The chip on shoulder pulsates, my hatred it mutates
Posh cunt had me irate, he said, "We're all the same"
Are you wild? Do you have enemies? Start with no amenities?
Mark that bleeds a legacy? Spark without tuition fee?
Darkness that they envy? They frenzy to befriend me
But I know ye, you′ll sell me, you'll sell me, you′ll kill me
No one gets into my space
No one gets into my space
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
No one gets in
To my space
It is our way to make a king, romanticize how they begin
Fetishize their struggling, while all the while they're suffering
In every worming memory of what they truly are
The rigmarole, the tortured soul, the constant spin, the merry-go
Roundhouse-kick into the face, sheer loss of private space
The moths, the snakes, the tiny waistcoat tail riders suck the grace
And little color out my face, the cancer in a padlock case
No one gets into my space
No one gets into my space
The market before anything, the darkest days are yet to sing
Like Winehouse, she was just a bairn, they love her now but bled her then
They reared me as a class clown, grass fed little cash cow
I cashed out, headed hell bound, and now they point and laugh
No one gets into my space
No one gets into my space
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
No one gets in
I′ll sell my story when it's true, I'll paint a pretty pic of you
I′ll walk amongst the ones who walk and talk when I am born
I′m in the embryonic state, on borrowed time I clean my plate
With a TV dinner I spectate, the fucks all gesticulate
The chip on shoulder pulsates, my hatred it mutates
Posh cunt had me irate, he said, "We're all the same"
Are you wild? Do you have enemies? Start with no amenities?
Mark that bleeds a legacy? Spark without tuition fee?
Darkness that they envy? They frenzy to befriend me
But I know ye, you′ll sell me, you'll sell me, you′ll kill me
No one gets into my space
No one gets into my space
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
Am I up to this?
No one gets in
To my space
Writer(s): Sam Fender Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
