Poor Boy

[Verse 1]

You do what you love, put your blood, sweat, tears into it

They love what you do, it's a deal, can't get out of it and

I was throwing out the pens and paper

I keep running, but it's smell you later

[Chorus]

I'm a poor boy from the country

What does Los Angeles want with me?

Sitting at my desk last week

Now I'm tryna be forgotten

[Verse 2]

Look at me, look at me, look at me

Me and my ego sitting in a tree

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Nothing new, boy, I do it every week

I'm a rockstar, punk rock though

Soccer mom kind, there's some Chicago

Shitty business at the rock show

Looking good, bro, where's your head, though?

[Refrain]

I'm not gonna lie, but it kinda hurts a little bit

Especially when I try to think

I can smell a thousand rhymеs running in the thick of it

Something's gonna start to stink (Ha)