Tell me, do I need to be depressed to write a decent song? Do I need a tragic backstory or can I just be wrong? Apparently the album isn’t finished ‘cause we’re missing “the one” Whatever the hell “the one” means So here we fucking come Should I be proud I didn’t rhyme that? Does that make it profound? Or should I say something stupid With a hook that gets stuck in your mouth? ’Cause part of me looks down on people Who make shit you sing along to Which is a pretty stupid opinion For somebody making songs too Yep For context, I don’t make money But I’m told that’s coming soon My car makes three different noises And one of them is new I’ve written about a hundred songs And nine of them don’t suck So statistically I’m talented Or statistically I’m fucked Do I keep making what I like And hope somebody comes along? Or calculate the proper number Of “baby”s in a song? ‘Cause part of me still thinks I’m better Than the shit that’s doing well Meanwhile they’re paying off a mortgage And I’m arguing with myself Fair point. I’m trying to impress myself And maybe a couple friends Three notoriously important critics Whose influence apparently never ends And I fucking hate pretending That a song came from my brain When I clicked a couple buttons Then took credit anyway So I made myself a rule And it’s probably a bad one If I’m wasting half my life on this At least I’ll waste it having fun ‘Cause what’s the fucking point Of finally getting everything you chased If everybody loves your music And you fucking hate the taste? So I’m gonna take my time And probably overthink it Gonna take my time Delete it, then rethink it Gonna take my time While everybody says “just finish it” Gonna take my time and— Fuck. I’m gonna take my time And hope that I get lucky Gonna take my time And hope somebody loves me Gonna take my time Pretending there’s a strategy There isn’t. I’m gonna take my time and hope.
