Verse 1 He strums a chord, then checks the clicks "No point in playing if it doesn't stick" He paints a skull, posts it twice "Link in bio, art ain’t free, all right?" He’s got a hobby, call it “content” A thousand pitches, zero intent Once loved music, now loves stats Dreams in logos, eats hashtags Chorus Pay me to breathe, pay me to feel If it don’t sell, then it ain’t real Don’t ask me to care without a fee Every heartbeat’s a brand, every thought ain’t free Fuck your DIY, fuck your scene I’m a walking Patreon machine Raise me on profit, feed me the lie If I can’t invoice it, it can die Verse 2 Grandpa built stuff just for fun Fixed old bikes, taught no one Now we film it, cut and crop Add fake grain and sponsorship "Don’t volunteer, what’s in it for you?" "Don’t help a cause unless it’s blue-check true" He won’t jam, he won’t draw Unless it’s pinned and monetized law Chorus Pay me to breathe, pay me to feel If it don’t sell, then it ain’t real Don’t ask me to care without a fee Every heartbeat’s a brand, every thought ain’t free Fuck your DIY, fuck your scene I’m a walking Patreon machine Raise me on profit, feed me the lie If I can’t invoice it, it can die Bridge (half-spoken, bitter and mocking) “Time is money,” “Passion’s profit,” “Do what you love — but make sure to market it.” He sold his soul for seven views and blames the world when he can’t feel truth Breakdown Chorus (slower, sarcastic) Pay me to cry Pay me to bleed Pay me to fail Pay me to need Final Chorus (rushed and screaming) Pay me to live, pay me to die Pay me to fake this alibi Call it a craft, call it a pitch The heart's gone broke, and the soul's a glitch Fuck your dream, fuck your pride We’ve been raised to hustle 'til we’re hollow inside
