I’m tired of hearing you call this “making music.” You press a button, get a track, then act like you produced it. I spent years learning how to write, how to build a song from nothing. You skip the struggle, then tell me you’re creating something. You say it’s still your voice, but I don’t hear any of you in it. It feels like you’re borrowing pieces from everyone else and claiming you did it. I’m not here to insult you — I’m here to protect the craft. And I’m not sorry for saying cutting corners shouldn't get a pass. “You’re not an artist.” I stand on what I’ve built, and I’m not backing down. If that makes me the villain, then fine — I’ll wear the crown. Sorry. Not sorry. Two sides locked in a fight, neither one stepping back. Sorry. Not sorry. We both believe we’re right, and then we both attack. Sorry. Not sorry. You hold your truth, I hold mine — that’s the fact. Sorry. Not sorry. No apology coming from either side of this track. You talk like the only way to make music is your way. But you don’t know what it’s like to have a story you can’t afford to play. I’m using what I have — not because I’m lazy, but because it lets me speak. I lived through things you’ve never seen, andnow I'm able to release. You think the software replaces me, but it ... DON'T It just gives me a place to stand when the world never gave me one. I’m not trying to steal your legacy — I’m trying to build my own. And I’m not sorry for using whatever tools help me make it known. “You can’t erase me.” I’m not asking for permission — I’m claiming space. You don’t get to decide who’s allowed to create. Sorry. Not sorry. Two sides locked in a fight, neither one stepping back. Sorry. Not sorry. We both believe we’re right, and then we both attack. Sorry. Not sorry. You hold your truth, I hold mine — that’s the fact. Sorry. Not sorry. No apology coming from either side of this track. You say it’s expression, but I don’t hear the work behind it. “Not real.” You say it’s cheating, but you don’t know what pushed me to find it. “Still real.” You’re changing the rules without respecting the game. I’m changing the rules because the old ones never let me play. You think I’m gatekeeping. You think I’m breaking tradition. You think I’m scared of change. You think I’m chasing permission. Maybe we’re both stubborn. Maybe we both have reason. Maybe this fight won’t end. Maybe it’s part of the season. We stand here arguing because we both care about the art. Different roads, same fire — neither willing to depart. No winner in the moment, just two voices holding ground. And neither one is sorry for the way they sound. “Stand your ground.” We’re different in the method, but the passion’s the same. Two creators in the conflict, both defending their name. Sorry. Not sorry. Two sides locked in a fight, neither one stepping back. Sorry. Not sorry. We both believe we’re right, and then we both attack. Sorry. Not sorry. You hold your truth, I hold mine — that’s the fact. Sorry. Not sorry. No apology coming from either side of this track. “Sorry. Not sorry.” The argument, still unresolved, still alive. Two voices standing firm — neither willing to compromise. Sorry. Not sorry…
