Blessed Be

As I lay me down to sleep

I pray my lord my soul to keep

I also pray for a hundred blunts, a limo with a hottub, a dirt bike, and a unicorn

Hit it

SDC, blessed be

All the greasy flea market girls like me

Who were told we'd achieve the most exceptional things

Junior strawberry festival princess 2016

Dearly beloved, I like to think I'm above it

I like to think I'm the subject of all the buzz that I'm lovin'

I'm Polly Pocket but mentally iller

All of this diet vanilla cherry coke up my nose rubbin' off my concealer

But still a juvenile offender stringin' random words together

For the pleasure of the hypocritic kids

That I could never impress as a freshman

Dressed like the dead did

SDC stepped in, you'd never have guessed it

"Shauna, you're huge now. How d'you take the pressure?"

The same way I got here: by imitating Ke$ha

Bought a flashy ass car that I drive too fast to measure

And I take it to wherever they gon' put me

At the centre of attention, mention my pretend ascension

To a height so high it requires an intervention

My guy's a piece of shit but I'm an artist

So I run to the tragedy that chases me the farthest

Livin' for the star shit, snowin' on the carpet

Cart hits with the Juicy bag under my armpit

I am not a god in a biblical sense

I am the teenage girl, don't know what limits are

House party villain and litter than literal

I'm the eight cylinder engine that's drilling her

I am the source of the boredom that's killing her

I am the children that witness her spilling her drink

As she slips in a house unfamiliar

I am the moon she believes is the camera

Posing alone in delusional glamour

When there's no more party to throw

But firstly, I'm the music that pumps through the stereo

To the dudes who write the dictionary

I've got a question, assholes

Why's it called a victim complex if it's not complex, it's simple?

I need a neon sign, 20-30 feet wide

Advertising the eternal little martyr inside

Like, warning: artist incapable of caution

She'll break your perfect heart then say she loves you as she stomps it

Then she'll write you twenty songs that sell a hundred million copies

Win two Grammys and upon being asked who she'll acknowledge

She'll stop for a moment, clutch her trophies and think

Well, Britney Spears, Em, and my mom, that's it