Drinking with My Headphones On

The hands go up, but they always come down
 That's the sad truth when you're living for the crowd
 The show's been over, but you still wanna bow
 You should really hang it up, but you're just too proud
 The beat's too low, and the vocal's too loud
 Even in the booth, you've been havin' little doubts
 You put your headphones on and drink 'til you pass out
 Praying for a drought help you shake your dark cloud
 I've not even been around the block
 Not even once, but I look out the door
 The corner's right there, the coast is clear
 My eyes are open, but I'm hating the chore
 No reason to stop now, there's nothing but pop clowns
 So put your money down, put your neck on the table
 You're feeling so hot now, you're calling the shots now
 Switch things up, you gotta shake that label
 Call it what you want, call it what you gotta
 It's a struggle in the booth to make the truth sound hotter
 Make you feel proper, make you feel just right
 And it's some insecurities, just to help you sleep at night
 So fall back if you don't feel me, I don't even feel me!
 Sometimes I think that I do this shit to try and heal me
 Maybe be appealing, maybe grow a fan base
 But honestly, I only make this music for my own sake
 You want my own take? Here's my two cents
 I don't need your recognition, just a record with depth
 An intense one that just lets me just vent
 One that knows when I'm happy or I wanna get bent
 And guess what, homeboy? That's all I ever need
 Introspection over beats and a party for the fiend
 A city full of songs and a mic for me to speak into
 If music speaks to you, please take heed
 Think about it, write it down, find someone you can teach it to
 I'm not preachin', dude, I'm just trying to cleanse
 A lyrical colonic, shake the demons in my head
 Sometimes you've gotta purge yourself to make it out of bed
 The hands go up, but they always come down
 That's the sad truth when you're living for the crowd
 The show's been over, but you still wanna bow
 You should really hang it up, but you're just too proud
 The beat's too low, and the vocal's too loud
 Even in the booth, you've been havin' little doubts
 You put headphones on and drink 'til you pass out
 Praying for a drought help you shake your dark cloud
 Inspiration don't come cheap these days
 So I go the opposite direction, tryin' to keep this faith
 No religion, but hip hop has given the opportunity
 To put a hundred percent into something that is true to me
 And usually my muses show up so I start sippin'
 Allow me to gas myself, so I stop trippin'
 And overthinking and analyzing everything I do
 So I can find out what life looks easier for you
 How the hell did I develop all of this social anxiety?
 And fuck a Zoloft! I roll off and get high
 With these bottles and beers, trying to forget those years
 I don't need a script doctor, but let's just say cheers
 And tip that, say sip, sip sippin' on the jazzers
 And when your people join you, then you know it's going to be magic
 But when you're on a vision quest, they say that it's a hazard
 But trust me, I would never let it turn to something tragic
 There's been too many kids lost in my hometown
 Must be something in the water shed, 'cause I know now
 Suicidal teens ain't born, they're bred
 So give them something to hope for instead of pullin' the thread
 Unravellin' all of their dreams at the seams
 I believe in doing for self, but it's nice having a team
 That's why I self-medicate just to help meditate
 Introspection is arrestin' when you can't catch a break
 The hands go up, but they always come down
 That's the sad truth when you're living for the crowd
 The show's been over, but you still wanna bow
 You should really hang it up, but you're just too proud
 The beat's too low, and the vocal's too loud
 Even in the booth, you've been havin' little doubts
 You put headphones on and drink 'til you pass out
 Praying for a drought help you shake your dark cloud
 Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na
 Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na
 Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na
 Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na
 The 16s we rip 'em, the pen's scribbles explicit
 Mic booth is a closet until the studio's finished
 Guaranteed that when we get legit, I'm going to miss it
 But until then, we circle the rag and stay on the mission
 A hotbed of ideas, our pens are best friends
 I've driven through carpal tunnel, that's hell but the road ends
 We're blazing our own path, we work as our own staff
 No paychecks get cut, but fuck we'll get past
 I stay sipping the bourbon and even though it's a weakness
 I need it to find the freedom to make real what I keep dreamin'
 I mean it, I promise I can surely keep my seams sewn up
 As long as I only have to pretend to be a grown up
 These headphones are worn, the paint's starting to fade
 High's starting to clip, lows starting to wane
 But no need to worry, the music's gonna get made
 And even when we pass out, wake up to a new day, like