(Verse 1) Dear dude, telling me to pick up a guitar, Like I got time to be some late-life rockstar. These hands ain't made for six-string dreams, They're torn-up, worked raw, factory machines. You chase the lights, you want the stage, I’ll sit back here and burn the page. (Pre-Chorus) I ain’t got time for your grand advice, Ain’t got space for your sacrifice. Your dreams ain't mine, so get in line, I’ll write my fire, you write your whine. (Chorus) Push a button, make a sound, You think it’s easy? Sit on down. You don’t know the weight of words, The scars, the fight, the songs unheard. Keep your chords and righteous stance, I got rhythm, I got chance. (Verse 2) Dear dude, calling AI a sin, Like the past ain’t full of where we’ve been. You scared of change? That’s on you, Music grows, the real ones do. Your bubblegum kings are crashing down, While real ones rise and claim their ground. (Pre-Chorus) I ain’t here to bow or beg, Won’t step back, won’t break a leg. You want it real? Then play it right, Or fade away into the night. (Chorus) Push a button, make a sound, You think it’s easy? Sit on down. You don’t know the weight of words, The scars, the fight, the songs unheard. Keep your chords and righteous stance, I got rhythm, I got chance. (Bridge) You want disclosure, want the past, But time moves on, it moves too fast. The listeners choose, they raise the kings, Not bitter hands and rusted strings. (Verse 3) Dear dude, crying that the game ain't fair, That AI stole your rightful chair. But truth is, man, you never fought, Just sat and screamed while others taught. Step aside or step up strong, The weak ones fade, the brave play on. (Outro) I’m sorry, bro, your dreams are dust, Your bitter heart’s about to rust. But I ain't here to hold your hand, I'm too busy building land. So take your shots, take your stand, I'll be here—fire in hand.