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So I was wondering... Exactly how hard would it be to turn out bullshit song lyrics like Pete Wentz?
Apparently not very.
My heart is a set of sliding subway doors:
You only have until the third chime to get on before I shut you out
(Feel free to get off anytime)
And I’ve been staring at the yellow line on the platform wanting to jump
But my timing’s all off. My timing’s all off.
I am the underground
You’ve got skyscrapers in your eyes and they claw at the clouds
Like you claw through my veins
Your legs are the only highway I’ve ever wanted to travel
But I’m afraid there’s congestion in the collector lanes
P.S. Hey Patrick, I think you should hire me to replace Wentz. I can't play the bass for shit, but at least I'm sane.
P.P.S. I win! It took me literally 2 minutes to write this. (Thank God it wasn't more or my brain may have fallen to mush.)
P.P.P.S. I dare you to try it yourself. I'm talking to you, f-list!
(Come on, guys. It’s kind of like a paint by numbers, really. Or a simple recipe:
- 1 cup of pining obsessively over a lover who doesn’t want you and/or you don’t want either (so HA!)
- 5 tablespoons of cocksure egotism
- 3 ounces of ridiculous and ambiguous metaphors
- 1 and 1/2 teaspoons of creepy, creepy sex
- Half a dozen broken hearts, applied liberally
- A pinch of misogyny
- 2 full quarts of pure and unfiltered ~emo
Mix thoroughly and bake until steaming, and voila! You too can write songs as god-awful as Pete!)
Apparently not very.
My heart is a set of sliding subway doors:
You only have until the third chime to get on before I shut you out
(Feel free to get off anytime)
And I’ve been staring at the yellow line on the platform wanting to jump
But my timing’s all off. My timing’s all off.
I am the underground
You’ve got skyscrapers in your eyes and they claw at the clouds
Like you claw through my veins
Your legs are the only highway I’ve ever wanted to travel
But I’m afraid there’s congestion in the collector lanes
P.S. Hey Patrick, I think you should hire me to replace Wentz. I can't play the bass for shit, but at least I'm sane.
P.P.S. I win! It took me literally 2 minutes to write this. (Thank God it wasn't more or my brain may have fallen to mush.)
P.P.P.S. I dare you to try it yourself. I'm talking to you, f-list!
(Come on, guys. It’s kind of like a paint by numbers, really. Or a simple recipe:
- 1 cup of pining obsessively over a lover who doesn’t want you and/or you don’t want either (so HA!)
- 5 tablespoons of cocksure egotism
- 3 ounces of ridiculous and ambiguous metaphors
- 1 and 1/2 teaspoons of creepy, creepy sex
- Half a dozen broken hearts, applied liberally
- A pinch of misogyny
- 2 full quarts of pure and unfiltered ~emo
Mix thoroughly and bake until steaming, and voila! You too can write songs as god-awful as Pete!)
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Patrick's ear for music, however, is astounding. Brilliant even. The boy can write a catchy pop song; I'll give him that. I'm predicting Fall Out Boy isn't going to last (either they'll be ousted as their fan base finishes hitting puberty like the boy band they are or Pete will do us a favour and off himself), but I get the feeling Patrick will be around in this biz for a very long time.
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I hope FOB's fans learn their lesson. That's the problem with allowing yourself to become so popular and building on it and feeding on it. Once your younger fans realize how shit you are (or move on to the next big thing), you really have no fans because all the ones who were there from the beginning are so damn alienated. I'm almost hoping Panic!'s next CD is shit so that the same thing happens. I mean, I love them and all, but the fandom is just ridiculous.
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I'm challenging my f-list to try their hand at writing like Pete. I even added a tutorial (read: recipe) onto the bottom of the post for your convenience :)
So, whaddaya say? I dare you.
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You'd better run away or you'll be caught in the explosion
The pressure builds
The cap comes off of my frothing emotions
You'll throw me in the trashcan so I don't dirty your walls
You're not as pristine as you think you are
...I lose on so many levels.
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I don't think we can get worse metaphors than an exploding soda bottle but we can TRY!
Ooh, I wrote another few random lines:
This thing called life is nothing more than a waiting room with seating for two
And the doctor only has bad news
You’re nothing but a sad face on the side of a milk carton
But I wish I knew where you were to collect the 5000 dollar reward.
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A moment ago I was flying so high above the terrain
Then all of a sudden you ripped me to pieces
But soon baby, I'll be flying that airplane
Hopefully your corpse will be better at coitus
I never thought I'd find myself writing bad poetry about necrophilia...
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Beautiful girls
With dark secrets
You wish you never
Asked for their numbers now
Beautiful girls
Walk through halls
Looking for fresh meat
Boys to eat alive
And you won’t survive the horror
Beautiful girls
Crave your affection
A kiss on the cheek
And a new sense of direction
Beautiful girls
Played the cellos
The day you died
They were the only people
To cry at your funeral
Beautiful girls
Don’t know what they’ve done wrong
So they need help
And the long awaited
Night in shining armour arrived
But I didn’t survive to the end
Leave it be
I am just me
How I write this shit, I do not know... :I 9sorry for it being long and pointless)
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You actually have a lot of neat phrases there. That could definitely be something. It's not really FOB-ish, no, but that's totally a good thing.
You know, I write some random-ass song lyrics too. Maybe I should post 'em from time to time? Oh, I have one song that's very Panic! At the Disco. Maybe I should do that one first? But it's really not the full effect without the melody :(
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You should post some of you lyrics! :)
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He's so fucked up. I love it.
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I find him entertaining, tbh, I guess. Kind of like one finds George W. Bush entertaining...
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Life is monogamy vs. Monopoly
at 4 in the morning
you've got these pink fifties spilling out of your pink bustier
I'm reaching for the sky(y) cause it keeps me sane
the only one who can get me off (my pedestal)
I dreamed a dream with my hands around your throat
failure never looked so good between your sheets
That was a lot easier and a lot more fucked up than I initially pictured.
Haha, and only Molly can infuse Dane Cook with Pete Wentz lyrics.
Oh, and can I point out, whether or not it's a shitty line, I so wrote "I am the dream, but you are the dreamer" way before it went into "Hum Hallelujah". Not trying to brag, just mentioning he borrows lyrics from my wannabe emo days.
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I totally spotted the Dane Cook long before you ever mentioned it, lol. I adore Dane Cook. WHERE'D YOU GET ALL THE PINK 50s, GRANDMA?
And not only that, but you totally managed to get the right "I am a total skeeze-bag" vibe Pete goes for with practically every one of his songs. Perfection. <3
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You should, you know, give it a shot. I'm still so open to hearing new people imitate Pete. Go for it.
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*Gives you a suspicious look*
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