What you don't understand is I'm winning.
I planned better. I'm full of tiger blood.
Your tiny brains can't even start to process
What a fuckin' rock star I am. You trolls
In your boring, humdrum, normal
Ways. I live epic. Duh. Sorry. Whatever.
If I was never born (hatched, forged--whatever)
You'd create a myth about me winning
Oscars, porn stars, drugs, ad contracts: normal
Prizes of Hollywood paid with our blood,
Sweat and tears. But fear not, earthly trolls,
I'm here, showing you the ugly process
Of entertainment. Take a dude, process
Him with too much money, too much whatever,
And feed him to the starving, inane trolls.
But I figured it out. That's why I'm winning.
I sold you on a shadow of my blood.
Do you really think this is me normal?
Of course I want more money. That's normal.
But I want to expose the slimy process,
Pull back the skin and show you all the blood.
I'm just who you want me to be. Whatever.
Same ol' Charlie. Same ol' rock star. Winning!
I can't expect fat Middle America trolls
To understand. But I can expect trolls
To buy Tiger Blood Sports Drink, a normal
Part of a healthy breakfast. I'm winning
Because you're talking. See, there's a process.
Duh. Just follow me on Twitter. Whatever.
It's not like I want to suck your blood.
I'll spill my own blood for you lousy trolls,
For cash or whatever. I swear I'm normal.
Why can't you all process that I'm totally winning?