Fireplace

Finn Armstrong, Julien Forsythe-Lewis

Please a mic I don't know better
These raves turned me to a go getter
Airplane mode when you bell my phone I make them break up, call me a homewrecker
Whole lotta love, anybody out here holding your nuts
Cant wait for the day that you're phoning me up
I know that it's coming, everybody chatting like they know me or something ugh
Manically travelling got it happening, cover hard ground while your fucking yard bound like a mannequin
Laughing I'll never of stamina, that'll be the day that I'm paid and I'm made and I'm vanishing
Barrister banging with bigger calibre, so much cake in the satin I'll be scranning and having it
At your manors I'm cracking up like a canister, when I'm in the rave always mopping up the stage like a janitor

I walk on clouds
But it's grey at my feet we I leave that crowd
Rain on the street, cigarettes burn down
Big smoke, don't know why the airs so foul
Bitter taste in my mouth, need these raves in the praise I drown
Out the traffic sounds with the bass up loud
No fight, just fights with a painful shout
No light, just lights in this faithless town
Been a hell of a night
As I leave that cold and reality bites
I realised in there I'm a hell of a guy but out here I'm a pawn in a desolate life
I keep walking, head down, phones in, phoned in
Stalking, lanes and pavements, hoping
Talk ain't, cheap and, futures, golden
All ain't bleak like streets I'm roaming

Then the pavements shaking
Sound coming from a building up in front of me
Sub humming like hell or the great deep
Walk past every night, swear it was never here
Don't know why I get closer and closer
Suttin bout the doors make me push and they open
Red corridor and I feel like I'm floating
Down half way when I hear doors closing
Then this fear sets in
I see a crowd and a stage, everybody in the crowd with a frown on their face
And their arms at their side to the sound of the bass
I'm at home in a rave but I'm out of my place
Then a guy on the stage with a mic in his face and a life full of rage in the eyes of a snake
Hands me a mic no chance of escape, he says

You really think you've got it in the bag? That your special? Kind of sad, just remember it's a dream that you're chasing
Leaving all your friends in the past for a fucking empty bag and a fantasy, your vanities amazing
I don't really know if I can do it but I know I'm gonna try, all I care about is music
And I hate that it's like this. Art shouldn't be about pride if I try then I might just make it
You're insignificant please, about a million sweets, and there's no miracles here they're not a factor
Take a look inside, a disgrace you're an actor, why work hard when it's luck that you're after?
I'm not tryna do the universe a favour
Tryna figure out myself if if it works then it's safe
Then I'll lay on my death bed, knowing that I gave it my best in the face of a world like yours
White rapper from the north east, not even affording respect to the to thought are you taking the piss?
You just talk on a beat, with a voice that boring every single lyric goes straight to abyss
Trying speak for mental health? Fuck you're selfish
Your just speaking for yourself, straight projecting
Look around this is hell fucking nothing here's heaven sent
And I never left

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A música “Fireplace” de Sweets foi composta por Finn Armstrong, Julien Forsythe-Lewis.

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