Sorry for what's in the magazines
I know it wasn't fair of me
But I'm spitting ink onto the pages like blood through broken teeth

I can see
The gallows all lit up in neon just waiting for me

The limelight started burning

They're all paying for bullets to shoot at my feet
Does that make you happy?
They're all paying for bullets to shoot at my feet
Does that make you happy?
Does that make you happy?

Truman will always be remembered for dropping the bomb
I'll always be remembered for my fuck ups but I'm
Still living in richie's basement, still sitting at the coffee shop with ken
We still talk about nothing, I still feel like the same person I've been

I knew a lot of talented kids
Who got lost in painkillers and turned into nothing
Sometimes I can still feel it pulling
But I just can't let that happen

They're all paying for bullets to shoot at my feet
Does that make you happy?
They're all paying for bullets to shoot at my feet
Does that make you happy?
Does that make you happy?
Does that make you happy?