𝐷𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑙

[Intro] [Spoken word, Raspy, Mellow] Scroll... scroll... scroll. Eight billion people, one feed. Welcome to the auction — my attention is the fee. (heh) [Verse 1] [Vocal Style: Staccato, Aggressive, Raspy] Six AM — thumb swipin' like a fiend on a fix, first hit of the mornin' — a man eatin' shit for clicks. Forty million watched him — I was forty million one, told myself "that's disgusting" — but I didn't move my thumb. (nah I didn't) Swipe. Face full of filler — lookin' like a wax museum, half a million followers — but not a soul who's seen 'em. I clicked her page to judge her — stayed to watch the wreck, told myself it's research — but it's just a broken neck. (welcome in) Swipe. Self-made guru — rented Lambo, leased advice, sellin' air to desperate people at a desperate price. I laughed at every comment — but I watched the whole damn clip, algorithm fed me poison — and I licked it off my lip. (swipe) This the buffet — dopamine on every plate, we the chef, the pig, the knife — and what we eat. Seven courses of disgrace — all-you-can-consume, bon appétit to all of us — we're cookin' our own doom. [Hook] [rap, No Singing, Syncopated, Aggressive, Raspy] More trash... (more trash) MORE FLASH — MAKE IT CRASH! We sold our minds for the likes, and we ain't gettin' 'em back. More trash... (more trash) MORE FLASH — MAKE IT CRASH! Scroll until your soul goes black — ain't no comin' back. (no comin' back) [Verse 2] [Fast Dense Rap, Shouted, Staccato] Talent used to mean somethin' — now it means a filter, ring light on a empty soul — manufacturer of glitter. Eat a bug, you're famous — punch your kin, you're trending, fake a funeral for content — and the feed keeps spending. Kids chasin' followers 'cause that's the only ladder left, world showed 'em money over meaning — what the fuck we expect? Fourteen-year-old girls already pricin' what they're worth — we built that market for 'em — then we blame 'em first. (that's on us) [Vocal Style: Syncopated, Emotional, Raspy] But here's the part I hate the most... I see it. All of it. And I'm still fuckin' scrollin'. We ain't the victims — we're the architects. Every click's a brick — every share's cement. Built this fuckin' circus with our own two thumbs, now we're standin' in the tent — actin' shocked it comes. (shocked?) I ain't pointin' fingers — my hands are just as dirty, mirror's gettin' clearer and the face in it... it hurts me. Empathy buffering... Error... 404 — connection to a human... lost. (lost) [Hook] [rap, No Singing, Syncopated, Aggressive, Raspy] More trash... (more trash) MORE FLASH — MAKE IT CRASH! We sold our minds for the likes, and we ain't gettin' 'em back. More trash... (more trash) MORE FLASH — MAKE IT CRASH! Scroll until your soul goes black — ain't no comin' back. (no comin' back) [SFX: bass drop, silence, beat returns heavy] [Verse 3] [Vocal Style: Syncopated, Emotional, Raspy] Whole world's wisdom — sittin' in my palm, and I used it yesterday — to watch a cat fall off a shelf. (yeah... me too) Libraries are ghosts — comment sections are the church, we don't whisper ignorance no more — we make it work. It earn. It hurt. (keep growin') Goldi ain't your preacher — shit, I can't even save myself. Phone's in my hand right now... same poison — different shelf. [Fast Dense Rap, Shouted, Staccato] Last bar — THIS ONE'S FOR ME TOO: WE HAD EVERYTHING — EVERYTHING! AND WE CHOSE THE SCREEN. TRADED WISDOM FOR A FILTER, TRADED SOUL — FOR A LIKE, CALLED IT PROGRESS — WHILE WE FLATLINED — IN THE LIGHT! (goodnight) [End]