[INTRO — SHORT] Screen at two percent. Still scrolling. Respect. [VERSE 1 — SHORT / TIGHT] I love how a ten-second clip can be “life-changing,” like we solved time, like attention isn’t leaking out of our ears. Breakfast with a ring light, therapy in the comments, confidence sponsored, sadness with a filter that makes it look expensive. You don’t need friends, you need engagement. You don’t need skills, you need angles. If it didn’t happen on camera, it was basically a rumour you told yourself. And the best part? Everybody’s “building a brand” like it’s a personality. I’m watching adults practise facial expressions like they’re learning a trade. [LIFT — SHORT] One more swipe— then I’m free. (yeah right) [DROP + HOOK — MELODIC (CONTINUOUS, NO CALL/RESPONSE)] I’m not addicted, I’m just “staying relevant,” thumb doing cardio, brain on silent. FYP knows me better than my real friends, feeds me a mood and I call it “my vibe.” I post a little proof so I can feel it happened, counting strangers like they’re vitamins. If the night goes hard but nobody records it, did I even dance or did I just exist? [VERSE 2 — SHORT / TIGHT] They taught a whole generation to talk in captions— short, shiny, empty, perfect for skipping. If a thought needs two sentences, it’s “too long,” if it needs a pause, it dies. Meanwhile the algorithm’s a polite little landlord: pay in attention or get evicted from your own feed. You open the app for “one thing,” and wake up forty minutes older holding nothing. Even at the club— bass in the chest, lights in the eyes— someone’s still filming themselves “having fun” like fun needs witnesses to count. [LIFT 2 — SHORT (BIGGER)] Put the phone down— watch the room get real. Then pick it back up anyway. [DROP + HOOK — BIGGER (MELODY PUSHES HARDER)] I’m not addicted, I’m just “staying relevant,” thumb doing cardio, brain on silent. FYP knows me better than my real friends, feeds me a mood and I call it “my vibe.” I post a little proof so I can feel it happened, counting strangers like they’re vitamins. If the night goes hard but nobody records it, did I even dance or did I just exist? [BREAK — PHONE SCROLL TEXTURE / CLOSE] Scroll sound like rain. Another “hot take.” Another “must watch.” I lock the screen. I unlock it again. Growth. [FINAL DROP + HOOK — BIGGEST (QUICK CUT THEN RESTART)] I’m not addicted, I’m just “staying relevant,” thumb doing cardio, brain on silent. FYP knows me better than my real friends, feeds me a mood and I call it “my vibe.” I post a little proof so I can feel it happened, counting strangers like they’re vitamins. If the night goes hard but nobody records it, did I even dance or did I just exist? [OUTRO — SHORT] Phone face-down. Bass face-up. That’s balance.
