Fine wine, fast cars, true lies, dark flaws

[spider_in_westwood]

Every day I'm a star in the city
Walk the streets like a wanted man
All the time got my shine looking pretty
Motherfuckers all know who I am
Every day feel the heat in the city
Like the barrel of a smoking gun
Read the signs, see the lights - they're so pretty
You're the one now turn me on

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[spider_in_westwood]

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front,
And now, instead of mounting barbèd steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,