Sitting Pretty

Atop a web of favor lightly sauced with the desired revenge of others.

Damn, girl, aren't you sitting pretty?

Up there on your high horse 

With that sceptre called popularity 

Clasped in your fingers.

Those long, annoyingly pampered claws of yours.

Damn, girl, aren't you sitting pretty?

With that wicked grin

That makes men and women do your bidding

Much like the mythological siren calling sailors to their graves.

And hell, if they're stupid enough to fall for you they deserve to have their individuality stolen.

Damn, girl, aren't you sitting pretty?

Donned in golden robes of royalty

And set atop the corpses of souls 

That you trampled so that you could get more power.

An anarchist from the hell of popularity.

Damn, girl, aren't you sitting pretty?

With that little group of your brainwashed minions

Following you around like lost puppies

Because they want to be you, not because they like you.

Such wonderful friends you have, huh?

Damn, girl, aren't you sitting pretty?

Atop of a web of favor lightly sauced with the desired revenge of others

Money coming out your a*s, (and probably through that dirty vaj of yours too),

And friends who would throw you under the bus at the flip of a switch.

Miss popularity, damn, aren't you sitting pretty?