[Intro — spoken, sarcastic] Oh… you hate my music because I use AI? Okay… I watched your reels. And honestly? The first thing that popped into my head was… Damn. Washed-up has-been. [Verse 1 — sung, playful] So you hate my music 'cause I use AI, Guess technology got you asking why. You watched my videos, came to throw some shade, Like somehow your opinion makes the music fade. I checked out your reels, yeah, I took a little look, And damn, your whole career reads like an old history book. Used to play the local bars while the drunk crowd talked, Now you're mad at a phone 'cause somebody else can rock. You had your time, yeah, nobody's taking that away, But don't confuse getting older with having something new to say. You call my music fake 'cause a computer sings, Meanwhile you're still living like it's 1983. [Pre-Chorus — sung, building] Technology changes, Music changes too, But apparently somebody forgot to update you. [Chorus — big, catchy, fully sung] Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, But I'm gonna make my music anyway. You can roll your eyes, You can talk your trash, You can sit on the sidelines watching me have a blast. Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, I don't need your permission to create. AI or human, I don't give a damn— I had a song in my head, So I made it happen. [Verse 2 — sung, sarcastic] You call yourself a musician, Well, congratulations, man, But being good back then doesn't mean you're still the plan. Now you're sitting online with your grumpy-old-man review, Complaining about AI like the future personally offended you. Back in the day, you played bars for the crowd, Background music while the local drunks got loud. Now the stage is different, and the audience changed, So suddenly everybody else's music is "deranged." Maybe you're not washed up, Maybe you're just mad that somebody with a phone can do what you once thought you had. [Bridge — spoken, slowly building] Here's the funny part… I'm not trying to be you. I'm not trying to steal your career. I'm not trying to take your stage. I'm sitting here… having fun. Writing songs. Making videos. Creating shit I enjoy. And you're sitting there… angry at my phone. [Breakdown — sung, building] My phone's my studio. My imagination's the band. I don't need a thousand dollars just to make something grand. You had guitars. You had microphones. You had your stage. I've got AI. Different tools. Same damn reason. I wanna make music. [Final Chorus — big, energetic, fully sung] Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, But I'm gonna make my music anyway. You can call it fake, You can call it wrong, I'm still gonna hit upload when I finish this song. Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, While I'm having fun, you can sit and complain. Washed-up or not, old-school or new— I'll keep making music. You do you. I'll do me. [Outro — spoken, laughing] And hey… If you wanna play at the family reunion this year… I'll make sure somebody requests "Sweet Caroline." Haters gonna hate. I'm still gonna create.
