Five More Steps

[Verse 1] Ants on the counter like they pay the damn rent, Flies in the kitchen, God knows where they’ve been. Rotting food sweating in a bucket by the sink, Five steps from the trash—too much effort, I think. Shoes through the house, drag the whole world in, Floor hasn’t seen a mop since I don’t know when. Every time I cook, gotta cover my plate, Like I’m fighting off nature just to fucking eat. [Pre-Chorus] And don’t tell me, “We’re getting old,” Like soap and a trash bag take muscles of gold. I’m not asking for marble, perfection, or class, I’m asking you to clean up your goddamn trash. [Chorus] It’s five more steps, Five more fucking steps. Throw the rotten shit away, Is that really such a test? Wash the counter, mop the floor, Shut the flies outside the door. I’m sick of living in a place Where basic hygiene feels like war. Call me dramatic, call me mean, At least I know what sanitary means. This ain’t “lived-in,” this ain’t “mess”— It’s laziness dressed up as helplessness. [Verse 2] Bug bites turning into infections on my skin, While everybody acts like, “Here she goes again.” No, I’m not crazy for wanting someplace clean, I shouldn’t need antibiotics from sitting in the fucking living room seat. Fruit flies orbit like a chandelier, Something smells dead every time I walk near. Compost in the kitchen turning into a swamp, Congratulations, you’ve invented an indoor dump. [Pre-Chorus] You’ve got working hands, you’ve got running water, A broom in the closet—Jesus, try a little harder. Getting older doesn’t mean giving up the fight Against mold, bugs, bacteria, and shit that bites. [Chorus] It’s five more steps, Five more fucking steps. Throw the rotten shit away, Is that really such a test? Wash the counter, mop the floor, Shut the flies outside the door. I’m sick of living in a place Where basic hygiene feels like war. Call me difficult, call me tense, I call it basic fucking common sense. I’m done pretending this is fine— Your laziness is crossing into mine. [Bridge – half-spoken / building] I don’t need a palace. I don’t need spotless white walls. I need to make a sandwich without flies landing on it all. I need to walk through a room without wondering what the hell just bit me. I need a sink that doesn’t look like something is evolving in it. And for the love of God— TAKE. YOUR. SHOES. OFF. [Breakdown] Sweep it. Mop it. Bag it. Drop it. Close the lid. Clean the sink. This is not advanced physics— What the fuck do you think? [Final Chorus] I’m done cleaning up excuses, Done swallowing disgust. A home should feel like somewhere safe, Not somewhere growing rust. You can roll your eyes, You can say I’m obsessed— But bugs, rot, flies, and filth Are not a personality quirk called “mess.” I’ve reached my limit, I’ve said what I meant: Take care of the fucking house— It’s five. More. Steps. [Outro] Five more steps. Tie the bag. Take it out. Wash your hands. For fuck’s sake.