Broadcast talking words, real words, painful words make you look so cheap You can't stand on your own, and I have ceased to care Digging, digging deeper for your precious heir Discredit, the job's too easy and so painful and way too fucking real The dirt is on your hands, the blood is on your hands And I can see right through them You're only a receptacle for me, respectability is a weapon of the "in" scene Dirt is law, new is wrong, can't we just let all this fall out of our laps again? How many sorries does it take? Well I'm sorry, yeah so sorry that you weren't cool enough Lies time pray for your inheritance, preys on their life.