Lyrics
Can't take champagne to the grave
We all end up six feet under anyways
It doesn't matter who you were before
'Cause no one's actually keeping score
So why is everyone pretending that it matters?
What you're spending, what you look like
What you say when at the end of the day
No one makes it out alive
There's no point in your pretty lies, oh
Fuck designer, start a riot
Perfect's going outta style
I was never like them
Sick of hitting my head on that glass ceiling
Falling in line can be fatal
I'd rather be a fucking mess than stable
Why is everyone pretending that it matters?
What you're wearing, who you talk to
Who you date when at the end of the day
No one makes it out alive
There's no point in your pretty lies, oh
Fuck designer, start a riot
Perfect's going outta style
I don't need no glitter dreams, I'm okay with crooked teeth
All I need is just to feel like me, oh
I don't need no glitter dreams, I'm okay with crooked teeth
All I need is just to feel like me
No one makes it out alive
There's no point in your pretty lies, oh
Fuck designer, start a riot
Perfect's going outta style
No one makes it out alive
There's no point in your pretty lies, oh
Fuck designer, start a riot
Perfect's going outta style
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