Today everything's a conflict of interest.
We had a death pact, and I have to keep my half of the bargain. Please bury me next to my baby in my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots. Goodbye.
I'm not chic, I could never be chic.
I just cash in on the fact that I'm good looking, and I've got a nice figure and girls like me.
I'll probably die by the time I reach 25. But I'll have lived the way I wanted to.
I was the only guy with any bit of anarchy left.