Rien À Prouver

Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash

Empty stomach, pockets bare
Not a dime to buy the success I deserve
How many reached out, not a single friend
Bitter artists, losing steam, killers
Hungry for fame, for recognition, they made me lose my youth
According to my dad, I’d sell my soul, I’d be turning tricks on the corner
Mom was there and so was my big brother
Everyone was there but no one said a thing
From record labels to brothels
Always the same old sex parties
Mama Africa, Katy Perry wannabe
I shake my ass there, just to grab their cash, killers

Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash

Such is my life
Bundles of regret
Living on credit to pay off my debts
Grinding my teeth to make it all stop
I saw myself already at the top of the bill
Reality catches up with me at dawn
Reality whispers to me at dawn
In the early morning, I left the nest
Took my flight little by little
I fell a hundred times and learned to get back up
In front of the mirror, I found myself
In front of the mirror, I found myself
In front of the mirror, I found myself

Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Oh, I got nothing left to prove but to make that cash
Well, nah nah nah
Such is my life, ayaya
Well, nah nah nah
Such is my life, ayaya, oh well