paroles de chanson Pro Wrestling - Billy Woods

When I looked into your eyes, I saw walls
Walls filled with fear
We don't even understand freedom anymore
We are a country that is heading towards socialism
Totalitarianism, beyond your wildest imagination
Because I'm rich in ring prowess, blessed with technical skill
And extremely well of when it comes to wrestling ability

They do interviews, veins bulging out the neck
Mock outrage, or is they really vexed?
Anybody's guess
Facts don't matter, make them twist
And shout, much beating at the chest
Popcorn buttered, feet up, eyes glued to the set
It never gets old, like pro wrestling for NES

They be goin' off the top rope, suplex
Pay-per-view to your double-wide and duplex
A swing an' a miss, but he still hit the deck
Badly choreographed cheap shot, meet the press
Logic is a foreign object to who cheats the best
Yells the loudest in the snake pit
Issuing cowardly threats
Work the crowd with oiled pecs
Emmanuel Goldstein on screen, grotesque

Come on down the aisle with your flag waving
With your music playing, and all your little fans standing and then
You must get a weapon, you must have a weapon
You must get any weapon that is legal to have and keep it in your house
And not worry so much that you're going to use it to kill yourself
Can I finish please? Yes, alright, absolutely
Death threats against my children

Wriggled out the eight count, razors in his mouth
Steel cage match if the ratings keep going south
The heel plays his bow to perfection
Steps on toes, came out throwing blows at your septum
Apply the sleeper hold just in time for elections
Talking heads tap the sides of their nose, as it grows
Catch a tiger by his toe
Wag the dog, thousand pound gorilla in the room

Fresh meat in the claw
Bring home the bacon
High on the hog
Pulled stuffing out the turn-buckle
Brass on the knuckle
Fan-favorite
HGH in the muscle
Are you not entertained?

For this, better men, crippled and maimed
It's all in the game
Grab the mic, hit your mark, spit those scripts
Pretty girls on the screen, showing some tit
Folding chair to the spine, cold line to the jibs
Dry eraser battle lines
One eye on Channel 9, like, "Can I live?"

Roll us into a new global government
Environmental fascism, dictatorship of the banking cartel
Cathy, get off my phone! Get off my phone you little pinhead!
I don't care
You people don't care about the trillions
Get off my phone!

You hack, their integrity
It's like Jacques Cousteau trying to find a dry spot in the ocean
I got no damn integrity
How you think I got so far?

I was born with a golden spoon in my mouth, nobody likes it
It's the old adage of
"You like to hear somebody is doing pretty good
But you don't want to hear they're doing better than you"
You see, and the bottom line is
My whole career, I've always done better than anybody else
Only because of one reason, I was born with a golden spoon

I inherited the ability, I inherited the money
I inherited the God-given best looks in the world today
And with this, I dress myself in ultra suede
I dress myself in cashmere, yeah

I dress myself in 100-dollar pleated slacks
I dress myself in alligator shoes
I wear a 15,000 dollar Rolex
I got Mercedes-Benz, Rolls-Royce
The biggest house, on the biggest hill, on the biggest side of town
You know why I got all that?
Because I was born with a golden spoon