work for yourself
on your own terms
walk into your studio
so you don’t have to hear,
“it just doesn’t burn”

what do you expect
when you’re pushing
for an entire album
full of singles

“it’s not high octane fuel”
you know what?
fuck you

you’re not what music is about
you and your half million dollar saab
people don’t come out to dance with you
you think you know what they want?
fuck you

i’ll work at starbucks coffee
for the rest of my life
making seven-fifty
but at least i can write
what’s in my heart
not what feeds your ego

when the front row
hands in the air
is chanting the words
as you play
that’s high octane fuel

you have no clue
fuck you

if every artist wasn’t blinded by pretty lights
if every label didn’t promise the world when you sign
with that small-print clause about selling your soul
writing what they want you to so you can make them more

why did they want you in the first place?

you don’t get reaction
if you don’t have talent
if we’d all band together
we could drown them out

you could hear what we have to say
and not words of the backup writers they pay

isn’t that what music is?
isn’t that what draws you in?
it’s our music you want
not manufactured pop

selling out isn’t the only way to the top
it’s just the quick way back
well, you know what?
fuck that