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The Poorest Rich Kids in the World (Rolling Stone Article)

DistrictDeacon

DistrictDeacon

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[Refrain]
Too many bottles of this wine we can’t pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no Lucky Charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain’t around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy’s Jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends

[Verse 1: Frank Ocean]
Start my day up on the roof
There’s nothing like this type of view
Point the clicker at the tube
I prefer expensive news
New car, new girl
New ice, new glass
New watch, good times babe
It's good times, yeah
She wash my back three times a day
This shower head feels so amazing
We’ll both be high, the help don’t stare
They just walk by, they must don’t care
A million one, a million two
A hundred more will never do

[Refrain]

[Bridge]
Real love, I’m searching for a real love
Real love, I’m searching for a real love
Oh, real love

[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
Close your eyes to what you can't imagine
We are the xany-gnashing
Caddy-smashing, bratty ass
He mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag
And used the shit for batting practice
Adam and Annie thrashing
Purchasing crappy grams with half the hand of cash you handed
Panic and patch me up
Pappy done latch-keyed us
Toying with Raggy Anns and Mammy done had enough
Brash as fuck, breaching all these aqueducts
Don’t believe us
Treat us like we can’t erupt, yup

[Alternate Verse 2: Frank Ocean]
Polo sweats and Hermes blankets
Them label hoes be stealing my shit
And all they clothes revealing they tits
Pills, high enough to touch the rim in that bitch
We party in my living room
Cause father is gone
And he left me this empire
That runs on its own
So all I got to do is whatever the fuck I want
All we ever do is whatever the fuck we want

[Verse 3: Frank Ocean]
We end our day up on the roof
I say I’ll jump, I never do
But when I’m drunk I act a fool
Talking bout, do they sew wings on tailored suits
I’m on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don’t end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash

[Refrain]

[Outro]
Real love, ain't that something rare
I’m searching for a real love, talking bout real love
Real love yeah
Real love
I’m searching for a real love
Talking bout a real love
 
Walker wanted children right away, and hustled Daisha into in-vitro fertilization. Daisha found his readiness for fatherhood a touching sign that he was ready to assume the responsibilities of being an adult. Still, Walker confided an additional motive to a friend. His grandmother's will had stipulated that if Walker left no heirs, upon his death his trust would be funneled into the Duke Endowment, a $2.8 billion foundation established by Buck Duke that nourishes, among other institutions, Duke University. The idea repulsed Walker: The very name that had given him such unearned bounty also stood for everything he felt he'd been deprived. "He despised Duke!" says longtime friend Mike Todd. "Duke University, Duke Foundation – everything Duke, he hated."
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That was really interesting read. Reading it I kept thinking it was about things that happened a long time ago and then it would say a date like 1995.
 
So much craziness in that article. In ninth grade and they still believe in Santa Claus.
The twins still believe in Santa Claus. They wrote him letters last year; Patterson's poignant note, his scrawl as sloppy as a first-grader's, read, "Dear Santa I know I havn't been good But if you do come all I want is to say hi to you in person." The kids insist that not only did Saint Nick reward them with gifts – "I mean, explain to me how three huge bags get into a house basement!" argues Georgia – but that they actually saw him.
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And then there's this.
The kids need to figure out what comes next for them – how they can start creating a life for themselves, and connect with others. Daisha has devised what she thinks is a terrific idea for an appropriate new set of playmates: She's working on getting the twins together with Michael Jackson's kids, with whom she thinks they'd have tons in common. "Wouldn't that be historic? The Jacksons and the Dukes, two of the most famous names, together?" Daisha asks.
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Those kids had a terrible childhood but man that kinda money would be fun if you weren't an addict
 
Marquee Moon said:
So you have no empathy for neglected and abused minors?
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of course i do, just not as much when they're set to inherit a billion dollars. with a B. there are probably half a billion neglected and abused children on this planet in worse situations than these kids.
 
Most of their money is gone ITC, they think its like $60 million, and the stepmother is selling the estates things without permission.
 
Knight said:
"Each July Fourth he'd put on an elaborate fireworks show at Outlaw Acres, staring at the exploding sky while spectators ran from the falling embers."

I fucking hate writers who constantly feel the need to overly-dramatize an already sufficiently dramatic tale. Just infuriating.
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You get angry over the strangest things.
 
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