She's bored, she picks up the paper. There's a magazine cover of the women that hate her. But she doesn't care, they don't got what she's got in her. .
There are watercolour ponies on my refrigerator door. And the shape of something, I don't really recognize. Brushed with careful little fingers and put proudly on display.
Pressure's on, I can't slow down. Got to make it 'fore the best years pass me by. Up before dawn, building my crown. In my own eyes, it's a noble sacrifice.