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tv dinner - sam fender lyrics

hypothesise
a heroes rise
and teach them all
to then despise
it is our way
to make a king
romanticise
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 sp*ce
the moths
the snakes
the tiny waist*coat tail riders
suck the grace
and little colour out
my face
the cancer in a
padlock case
no one gets in to my sp*ce
no one gets in to my sp*ce
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 h*ll bound
and now they point and laugh
no one gets in to my sp*ce
no one gets in to my sp*ce
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 f*cks all gesticulate
the chip on shoulder pulsates
my hatred it mutates
posh c*nt had me irate
said, ′we’re all the same′
are you wild?
do you have enemies?
a start with no amenities?
a mark that bleeds a legacy?
a spark without tuition fee?
a darkness that they envy?
they frenzy to befriend me
i kna yee
yel sell me
yel sell me
yel k!ll me
no one gets in to my sp*ce
no one gets in to my sp*ce
am i up to this?
am i up to this?
am i up to this?
no one gets in to my sp*ce

- sam fender lyrics

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