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• Artiste: Man Without Country
• Titre: King Complex
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You fold your arms, roll your eyes, and spin your sports car keys You sold a sleazy story to a gossip magazine You throw your toys out of the pram to try and make a scene You carelessly indulge in cosmetic surgery You'd do anything just to be seen Anything that gets you on a screen You really would go to any extreme There's no such thing as bad publicity You are the bearer of bad news You were the boy in the 'pick teams' that no-one would choose Left standing in line Better luck next time Now you work in the wrong field You watch your superiors to tread on their heals You may slip through the crack But what goes around must come back Your head is like a lost balloon, drifting through the clouds I'm waiting for the day it shrivels up and hits the ground My ears are like satellites, I'm lucky as can be Life is so convenient when you hear things digitally You'd do anything just to be seen Anything that gets you on a screen You really would go to any extreme There's no such thing as bad publicity You are the bearer of bad news You are a mild irritation like a stone in my shoe You are the feeling of gloom That empties the room Now you take undeserved praise You laugh and kiss money as you watch your pay raise You are a true parasite And you're the bane of my life