I'm STILL a self confessing, self professing know-it-all, or so I think!

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I’ll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, fuck with the stars

You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars

I’m feeling rough, I’m feeling raw, I’m in the prime of my life

We’ll choke on our vomit and that will be the end
We were fated to pretend
To pretend
We’re fated to pretend
To pretend