| Breathe kids, the mold is getting old
|
| It’ll be gone any day
|
| The hipster empire of tomorrow
|
| Will fall to the common kids of today
|
| With tied wrists we’re under their control
|
| With fists clenched, we’re taking on the world
|
| I write down words with cathartic intentions
|
| But they spawn revolutions of minds
|
| They’re asking for my, my head on a plate
|
| They’re asking for my, my head on a plate
|
| I’m really, really not
|
| That conceited I swear I’m not
|
| I’m just trying to bring
|
| Music back to music
|
| I define up and coming
|
| They already came up and went
|
| I’m loose lipped now shaking back and forth
|
| Problems fixed, I’m pouring out my soul
|
| I find the right words to express myself
|
| Instead of fitting round pegs in round holes
|
| What a lovely day for a symphony
|
| Full of honesty and integrity
|
| So take this for what it’s worth
|
| Originality’s not a curse
|
| They’re asking for my, my head on a plate
|
| They’re asking for my, my head on a plate
|
| I’m really, really not
|
| That conceited I swear I’m not
|
| I’m just trying to bring
|
| Music back to music
|
| I define up and coming
|
| They already came up and went
|
| They’re asking for my, my head on a plate
|
| They’re asking for my, my head on a plate
|
| I’m really, really not
|
| That conceited I swear I’m not
|
| I’m just trying to bring
|
| Music back to music
|
| I define up and coming
|
| They already came up and went |