I can't help myself...I'm addicted to a life of material. It's some kind of joke...I'm obsessively opposed to the typical...Cause I do not accept any less than someone just as real, as fabulous. I am as vain as I allow...I do my hair, I gloss my eyes...and when something falls out of place, I take my time and I put it back. We do the dance right, we have got it made like ice cream topped with honey, but we got no money but it's so good to be popular, glamorous, we love ourselves and no one else...You gotta be wondering why I like it rough, but all we care about is runway models, cadillacs, and liquor bottles. We're doing it for the fame, baby you'll be famous...chase you down until you love me. So let's play your lovegame. Do you want love or do you want fame? It's good to live expensive, you know it...I live to be model thin, dress me, I'm your mannequin...What did you say? You're breaking up on me...That boy is a monster? Don't call my name...I can see myself in the movies with my picture in city lights. I'm so speechless...but you and me could write a bad romance...I want to kiss you, but it's complicated and stupid...Fame cause we got a taste for champagne...But it's the last show...so get your last fix and your last hit...fame...and turn the record on and wonder what went wrong...
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