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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Danny Pynes
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Brian Carper
Songwriter
Lyrics
I take a bullet ride down Brighton Beach
I pick a package right up off the street
I sing a song about love, Tennessee
There's 'bout a million places I could be
I know the sunny side seems out of reach
When all your skinny friends keep losing teeth
I know the pretty things they ain't for me
There's 'bout a million things I'd rather be
Maybe the good life and me and you we ain't such a good match
All the chips are stacked
We keep coming last
Maybe we were born bad
Like a sign of the times
Maybe we were born bad
There's no reason or rhyme
You keep a bullet tied tight 'round your neck
In case a couple things ain't happened yet
You got a killer frame, your silhouette
And 'bout a million dreams inside your head
No, I can't sing you back, can't write a check
And I ain't out of love, ain't out of debt
It's all the little things I can't forget
It's 'bout a million things I should have said
Maybe the good life and me and you we ain't such a good match
All the chips are stacked
We keep coming last
Maybe we were born bad
Like a sign of the times
Maybe we were born bad
There's no reason or rhyme
Sometimes star-crossed kids never catch a break
Hard times follow wherever you go
Don't let the flame inside ever die away
Hold on tight, girl, don't ever lose hope
Maybe the good life and me and you we ain't such a good match
All the chips are stacked
We keep coming last
Maybe we were born bad
Like a sign of the times
Maybe we were born bad
There's no reason or rhyme
Writer(s): Brian Carper
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