[Verse 1: Brick-fisted rap-rock male MC, heavy live drums, crunching guitar riff] Every morning he is up before the coffee even drips Typing that ain't music with a sneer across his lips Says a real one bleeds for it, says a real one pays the cost Says a song without a struggle is a song already lost Got a guitar in his picture that he never learned to play Got a countdown in his bio and it resets every May Eight years he's been announcing that the album's coming soon Eight summers, eight winters, and the same old tune Calling me a hollow shell while he's hollow on the shelf Only thing he ever finished is a speech about himself [Hook: Brick-fisted rap-rock male MC, full shout, guitar riff doubled] Another drop date, nothing in the store Eight years of any day, what you waiting for He can't drop the album, he can't drop the hate Only thing he ever drops is another drop date [Verse 2: Brick-fisted rap-rock male MC, harder kick, riff stabs between the bars] He threw a listening party in his mama's living room Played eleven seconds, said the rest is coming soon Fourteen people on the couch and nobody touched the dip Then his cousin grabbed the speaker and she let my record rip Now the couch is on its feet and his mama's on a chair And his uncle's asking, nephew, is your album like this here He's in the kitchen, arms crossed, mad at the bass But I caught his left foot moving, keeping time with the place Eight years of drafts in a folder he named Final Final Two, Final Three, Final Real, Final Vinyl Every version got a date and every date got a delay He's been mixing one snare since his hairline went away [Hook: Brick-fisted rap-rock male MC, full shout, guitar riff doubled] Another drop date, nothing in the store Eight years of any day, what you waiting for He can't drop the album, he can't drop the hate Only thing he ever drops is another drop date [Verse 3: Brick-fisted rap-rock male MC, riff rides the flow, the guitar plays every syllable] Eight years on one album, man, an elephant'd have four And he still ain't push it out, he just posts about it more Call my stuff a fake, man, at least my stuff exists Yours ain't even real yet, yours is still a wish list You're scared to let it out 'cause it might not land So you hold it like a grenade with the pin still in your hand Every drop date passes and you never pull the pin Then you run back to my comments 'cause that's where you've always been [Bridge: Brick-fisted rap-rock male MC, riff and kick only, shouted] So drop it, just drop it, let the whole block judge Drop the album, drop the act, or drop the grudge Pick one, I'll be back next Friday, loud And you'll be in my comments with a date and no crowd [Final Hook: Brick-fisted rap-rock male MC, everything in, full shout] Another drop date, nothing in the store Eight years of any day, what you waiting for He can't drop the album, he can't drop the hate Only thing he ever drops is another drop date [End]
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