Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Drinking with My Headphones On, artist - E-dubble. Album song hip-hop is good, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 26.10.2009
Record label: Evan Wallace
Song language: English
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 really should 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 'till 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 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 a 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 really should 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 'till 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 to many kids lost in my home town |
Must be something in the water shed, 'cuz 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 really should 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 'till you pass out |
Praying for a drought help you shake your dark cloud |
The 16s we rip 'em, the pen’s scribbles explicit |
Mic booth is a closet until the studio’s finished |
Gaurenteed 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’ve 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 musics gonna get made |
And even when we pass out, wake up to a new day like |
bwwwooaaaahhh… |