[INTRO]
Yeah…
Steve Starchy
Sixty racks later…
Still lookin’ lost in the mirror…
[HOOK]
Steve Starchy cut his stomach up,
Paid sixty grand just to suck it up,
Doctors lookin’ tired like “what’s wrong with ya?”
People pray to live, he volunteered for the surgery stuff.
He wanna chase girls, ride around flashy, in his 5 Cent shitty Torana.
Fake six-pack but the mind still trashy,
Everybody else scared when the lights go black,
This fool signed papers sayin’ “slice me like that.”
[VERSE 1]
Big pasta plate, chain hang low,
Used to breathe hard tying up his own shoes slow, known as a pasta pusher.
Now he flex online with a tight black tee,
Talkin’ “new me now,” but it’s surgery, G.
People in hospitals cryin’ in pain,
Families by the bedside goin’ insane,
Meanwhile Steve pickin’ nose jobs and lipo,
Tryna buy confidence stitched up with Geico. Eyeball having a spastic attack, it’s all good in the hood. Doc hers 30Gs see you at 1 o’clock.
He went from meatballs down to sardines,
Still got the ego bustin’ out the seams,
Italian Stallion? Nah, cafeteria boss,
Spent a house deposit just to tighten the floss.
[HOOK]
Steve Starchy cut his stomach up,
Paid sixty grand just to suck it up,
Doctors lookin’ stressed like “enough’s enough,”
While accident victims never asked for that stuff.
He wanna pull girls, act all clean, used to take old mate Jack’s sloppy seconds. Those girls were only made of Steves dreams. Tried to fuck up old mate Jack’s dream machine, while he’s
confidence come from a laser machine,
Everybody else fear that operating room,
Steve booked a VIP seat like a holiday cruise.
[VERSE 2]
Scars on the belly with designer cologne,
Tryna act tough while he scroll on his phone,
“Look at me now,” with the gym selfie grin,
But discipline hard when you can just cash in.
Nurses whisper “man, this dude wild,”
Spent retirement money tryna look twenty-five,
Face pulled tight like a leather car seat,
Still get ignored when he walk down the street.
Now he at the club with a silk-button fit,
Talkin’ loud at women who ain’t feelin’ his shtick,
Bought a new jawline, bought abs from a doc,
But personality still smell like socks.
[BRIDGE]
Cut here… stitch there…
New haircut, fake stare…
Can’t buy soul in a Beverly Hills chair…
Can’t buy swagger when the room don’t care…
[FINAL HOOK]
Steve Starchy cut his stomach up,
Sixty thousand burned just to cover up,
World full of pain and recovery fights,
He volunteered for the knife just to chase nightlife.
Big tough talk but it all seem funny,
Built a whole new body off Coke acola money,
Now he standin’ there slim with a fake tough grin,
Still the same Steve underneath the skin.
[OUTRO]
Yeah…
You can shrink the waist…
But you can’t photoshop the spirit…
For the production, think:
Punchy old-school drum breaks
Menacing bassline
Slow eerie piano
Hook vocals layered with crowd chants
Aggressive ad-libs between bars (“yeah!”, “uh!”, “what?
ChillShadow995
