I guess you could say he was another cliché.
He wanted the booze, the women and the money.
You would think it was never about the music.
You would think he would have had a concsiouns.
But he wasn't, this time the story was different.
He owned it.
This was his story.
We all have demons.
Some are darker than others.
Sending out an uneasy vibe.
But his demon, his demon was never to see the light again.
He loved the booze and the women.
He spent the money he earned on a wooden stool.
Next to a glass with the rim drowning in salt.
His concsiouns was strong, telling him things like
Let the needle go
You're more than the heroin
Keep breathing.
But his demons were stronger
Constantly bringing him down
Telling him he needed the booze
The women were all he had
And the money was what was keeping him alive.
I guess you could say he was another cliché.
He lived for the booze, the women and the money.
You would think it was never about the music.
That he never had a concsiouns.
Or you could say he wanted to be a rock star.
He lived for the mix tape's
The cigarettes
The vinyl stores
He lived for the rock and roll.
No, he lived off the rock and roll.
