(Disposable) Superstar

[Intro] [snare pop; camera shutters] (yeah) Check the smile—rented. Check the vibe—vented. Check the chart—cemented. That’s me: contented. [Verse 1] Focus-group face with a boardroom glow, factory hook in a platinum bow. I don’t claim truth; I claim tempo—(go) if it makes you move, it’s a “me” you know. I’m the ad between the lines you love, I’m the gloss on the glove fit snug. No manifesto, just a perfect shrug— sign here, sparkle, sweep the rug. If it’s plastic, I’ll polish it prime; if it’s hollow, I’ll make it rhyme. Authenticity’s cute—till rent time; my brand breathes fine in a press-kit spine. [Pre-Chorus] You need a chorus, not a conscience, right? You need a soundtrack more than a fight. I’m not a prophet; I’m a Friday night— turn me up, then trash the light. [Chorus] Play me loud, throw me later— I’m the hit, not the hater. No beliefs, just a flavor, built to trend, not to save ya. Use me up, love the spark, then forget me in the dark. I’m a pretty comet mark— (hey) your disposable superstar. [Post-Chorus] (oh) Say my name till the shelf life ends, (oh) Stream my face, then stream my friends. (oh) I’m the aftertaste of neon sins— (scratch that) neon wins. [Verse 2] Shout “keep it real” while the bar tab cries— I bought the room where your truth flatlines. You call it “soul”; I call it “stall”; I call my agent—I book the hall. You kept your edge; I kept receipts, you kept your oath; I kept the suites. I’m not ashamed of the mask I wear— I sell the mask ’cause the market stares. Pledge your purity, pass the cup; I’ll drink the deal and cash it up. When the night needs someone bright and dumb, I’m a perfect storm with a perfect sum. [Pre-Chorus] Don’t need a thesis, need a drop; don’t need a sermon, need that pop. Bend the mirror till the metrics hop— brand me “fake,” I still don’t stop. [Chorus] Play me loud, throw me later— I’m the hit, not the hater. No beliefs, just a flavor, built to trend, not to save ya. Use me up, love the spark, then forget me in the dark. I’m a pretty comet mark— (hey) your disposable superstar. [Break] [beat strips; whisper flex] (Pre-saved apology in my Notes app draft) (Scandal level: 4—safe for the staff) (Handshake, photo, headline bath) By Monday morning, we’ve done the math. [Verse 3] I’m controversy-lite with a lemon twist, just tart enough for a playlist list. PR pillow where the knives might land; two clean edits and a clapping hand. No hill to die on, no crest to claim, I’m rented thunder with a sponsor name. I’m all hook—no childhood lore, no tragic backstory to tour. I’m ticker tape with a human grin, I’m empty calories you’ll binge again. And when the stream dries up, I’m gone— next face, same song, same dawn. [Bridge] I’m not forever; I’m for-sale weather— clear plastic rain on your dancing leather. Love me quick; I’m designed to sever— breakaway fame with a pressure lever. If meaning knocks, I’ll lower the sound— smile for the clip while it spins around. [Chorus – Final] Play me loud, throw me later— I’m the hit, not the hater. No beliefs, just a flavor, built to trend, not to save ya. Use me up, love the spark, then forget me in the dark. Tape the crown to my remark— (hey) your disposable superstar. [Outro] [flashbulbs fade; bass lingers] (yeah) I won the night—that’s all it asks. Tomorrow needs a newer mask. If I’m a trick, I’m still the show— cash the clap, then let me go.