I’m sad for those who don’t know what it’s like to love a city more than they love themselves… but I guess we’re all fated to pretend.
I’m feeling rough, I’m feeling raw, I’m in the prime of my life.
Let’s make some music, make some money, find some models for wives.
I’ll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck with the stars.
You man the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars.