[Intro] [Swirling, ethereal synthesizer pads build up] [A soft, breathy vocal echoes with heavy reverb] Oh, the sheer... audacity of you, darling. (You know exactly what I mean...) Who the actual off-brand are all these background extras? I’m talking to you, little nougat. Yeah, you.[A driving, 120-BPM four-on-the-floor dance beat drops in] Where did you even find these visionaries? A fast-fashion dumpster? Gosh darn. [Verse 1] Spinning 'round the room, under the disco light Where did this spectacular parade of peasants come from tonight? Who is this guy? Honey, this isn't a soup kitchen You’re fronting like your Z-list entourage is actually winning But it's just a whole room full of minimum-wage fudge packers, man. Did you bus them in from a discount candy van? Who is this? Darling, you are ruining my aesthetic Who the faux-designer are these randoms? It’s pathetic. Just a bunch of breathtakingly basic plus-ones, man. [Pre-Chorus] [Beat filters out, dreamy floating bassline takes over] Wait, hold up... let me get a closer look. Do they even *do* their nails? I’m looking at unmoisturized cuticles and it's making me pale. And excuse me, what is that hair dye quality? Is that three-dollar box dye? The brassiness is blinding me![Chorus] [Explosive Dance-Pop Drop with glittery arpeggios] So who in the clearance aisle are all these people? (Who are they?) Where you from, looking so tragically cheap, oh! I don't know him, I don't trust him, I don't love him, downgrade him to coach! It's a lot of thrift-store mannequins, man. Yeah, I don't know him, I don't trust him, I don't love him, revoke his VIP pass! It's an ocean of amateur-hour fudge packers, man. [Verse 2][Beat pulls back to a groovy, bouncy bassline] Yeah, what is up with this "exclusive" crowd? You a fan or what? I need a show of hands, who's the desperate stan, or what? Who are you trying to scam? It's a lot of unverified nobodies. Are you in a local garage band or somethin'? Where you staying? You from the 'gram or somethin'? Because those Instagram filters are doing heavy lifting, honey. Look at you—did you wash that hair with dish soap? I need a show of hands, is this entire group a joke? Who are you boring to tears? It's a lot of budget hangers-on, man. [Pre-Chorus] [Dreamy synths swell back in] Wait, hold up... let me check the aesthetics. Do they even *do* their nails? Chipped polish on the dancefloor, an absolute fail. And darling, seriously, that hair dye quality? I can see the split ends from across the room, honestly! [Chorus][Massive, euphoric Dance Pop Drop] So who in the clearance aisle are all these people? (Who are they?) Where you from, looking so tragically cheap, oh! I don't know him, I don't trust him, I don't love him, downgrade him to coach! It's a lot of thrift-store mannequins, man. Yeah, I don't know him, I don't trust him, (Sing it like a choir now!) I don't love him, revoke his VIP pass! Just a bunch of un-moisturized fudge packers, man. [Bridge][Atmospheric, floating Dream Pop breakdown. Vocals are soft, whispered, and echoing] Who... are... they? Walking fashion disasters in my way. Go back to your two hundred followers... Take your brassy hair and walk away... (Cancel their parking validation. Tow their leased sedans.) [Outro] [Beat kicks back in for one last groove, fading out slowly] Seriously, who the actual knock-off are these people? Like, actually. Get these un-moisturized fudge packers out of my sight. [Giggles softly] Bye, nougats.
