Your Daughter

Oh, girl, let your hair down low
All over me, yeah,
I want you all over me. Climb on now, hard and fast
Just let me cram in as many sexual innuendos as I can,
Watch me
And they’ll play it on the radio
They’ll play it to little ones who I’ll mold into one of my very own

Say, who cares if this song don’t rhyme
I just wanna cash in on other girls’ insecurities
Most of them barely even hit puberty
Oh well, we say, this shit sells
Why make the world a little better when
You can make it look ugly?
We’ll make the little girls hate themselves and,
Yeah, we’ll think it’s funny

I know sex sells and
I’m so original for using it in my lyrics, who’d have thought that’s the way to make
Money?

I know it’s disgusting, so please go ahead
Go ahead and tell yourself you hate it
That you abhor it, that it’s wrong
But you’ll still watch it, buy it, and get it to the charts,
Buy it, Buy it, and let your daughter paste it all over her bedroom walls in sparkly little hearts
I may be an image, a brand, and a lie
But only I have the power to make your baby girl cry.

Cry my name and shout it, scream it, blast it through the walls
Go and buy her that cake with my face on it
For I’m the only thing she adores
She’ll find other boys soon to give her a big fat diamond ring
But for now I hold the key, the key, yes, the key
to screw with her own insignificant self worth
I’ll shape her own perception of herself,
And make her feel lost when she realises that she can never,
Ever be with the construct that defines itself as ‘me’.

Because,

really,

just

who

makes

money

being

authentic

anymore?

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