Start the engine
Create junk
Mass produce
Replicator
Money visionaries
With no pride
Deliver the hollow
A rapist of minds
[Chorus:]
Not art like
Not art
A soul for sale
A clone by heart
Submissive, a servant
For he who holds the leash
He guides you to fame
And you eat of his hand
And the dog will return
Addicted to glamour
Self respect defeated
He comes begging for more
[Repeat chorus]
All intentions of art must die
Fame chosen rather than pride
Originality is nowhere near
A Xerox machine is what you hear
When the army arrives
Those of shame
The commercialized
Aim and fire at will
More make-up
Darker hair
More leather
You're almost there
No soul
Plastic to the core
Fake blood
Another poster boy
Not art like
The fraud machine
A copyist
Strict discipline
Fraud Machine Video (MV)
Audiopain - Fraud Machine Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Start the engine
Create junk
Mass produce
Replicator
Money visionaries
With no pride
Deliver the hollow
A rapist of minds
[Chorus:]
Not art like
Not art
A soul for sale
A clone by heart
Submissive, a servant
For he who holds the leash
He guides you to fame
And you eat of his hand
And the dog will return
Addicted to glamour
Self respect defeated
He comes begging for more
[Repeat chorus]
All intentions of art must die
Fame chosen rather than pride
Originality is nowhere near
A Xerox machine is what you hear
When the army arrives
Those of shame
The commercialized
Aim and fire at will
More make-up
Darker hair
More leather
You're almost there
No soul
Plastic to the core
Fake blood
Another poster boy
Not art like
The fraud machine
A copyist
Strict discipline
Create junk
Mass produce
Replicator
Money visionaries
With no pride
Deliver the hollow
A rapist of minds
[Chorus:]
Not art like
Not art
A soul for sale
A clone by heart
Submissive, a servant
For he who holds the leash
He guides you to fame
And you eat of his hand
And the dog will return
Addicted to glamour
Self respect defeated
He comes begging for more
[Repeat chorus]
All intentions of art must die
Fame chosen rather than pride
Originality is nowhere near
A Xerox machine is what you hear
When the army arrives
Those of shame
The commercialized
Aim and fire at will
More make-up
Darker hair
More leather
You're almost there
No soul
Plastic to the core
Fake blood
Another poster boy
Not art like
The fraud machine
A copyist
Strict discipline