[Verse 1] I open the file and I hate my face Every hook I wrote feels like secondhand lace Fake smiles in the room fake nods in the back Everybody wants blood when the first take cracks I bite my own tongue while the ceiling bends All these polished lies from my so-called friends I hear that same chant from the usual clowns Talking big in the light then they all fold down [Pre-Chorus] Cut me out, cut me clean I can see the strings All those hands on my work all those fake kings I been chewing on doubt why does it feel like my mouth doesn't fit? If this is the scene why does it taste like shit? [Chorus] I hate my songs I hate my tracks I hate this room and the faces on the racks Fake ass kings fake ass crowns I want to tear it down tear it down, tear it down I hate my songs I hate my tracks I hate the whole scene and the vultures in the stacks Fake ass kings fake ass crowns I want to tear it down tear it down, tear it down [Verse 2] Baritone low then I snap to speed Write another wound then I feed that need Tenor in the throat with a blade-edge grin I keep making noise just to trap that sin Every demo dies in a folder grave Every cheap applause is a lie they save I smell that greed on the front-row shills Fat sniffers circling for the next cheap thrill [Pre-Chorus] Cut me out, cut me clean I can see the strings All those hands on my work all those fake kings I been chewing on doubt why does it feel like my mouth doesn't fit? If this is the scene why does it taste like shit? [Chorus] I hate my songs I hate my tracks I hate this room and the faces on the racks Fake ass kings fake ass crowns I want to tear it down tear it down, tear it down I hate my songs I hate my tracks I hate the whole scene and the vultures in the stacks Fake ass kings fake ass crowns I want to tear it down tear it down, tear it down [Bridge] [Machine clatter drops in] I made this mess with my own two hands So I know the shape of the trap I planned If I burn it all, will I still breathe? If I burn it all, what do you leave? [Screamed] Fake. Cheap. Empty. Loud. [Final Chorus] I hate my songs I hate my tracks I hate this room and the faces on the racks Fake ass kings fake ass crowns I want to tear it down tear it down, tear it down I hate my songs I hate my tracks I hate the whole scene and the vultures in the stacks Fake ass kings fake ass crowns I want to tear it down tear it down, tear it down
