backup

Got some money in my pocket
But that doesn't make a difference at all, at all, at all
This isn't fame, I'm fucking lame
I'm just a boy who's tryna figure it out, it out, it out

Well maybe this is fucking it, the audience has turned against
They wanna justify the creepin' and leak my mom's home address
The paranoia rises best when your words sit inside my chest
I'm fucking human don't forget that when you're making your request

I've got my hands up
You've got your hands on your gun
Calling for backup
I'm not the only one
I've got a question
Does torturing me sound fun?
Yeah you take out your stress
By punching holes out of everyone

Got some whiskey in my cup
But I don't think that it's enough at all, at all, at all
This isn't me, I tell myself
I constantly worry about my health, oh

Well maybe I should fucking try 'cause death is creepin' right behind
I see him sitting in the corner lookin' oh-so-fucking sly
Anxiety is on the rise when he's constantly on my mind
I fear the day is finally coming where I meet my own demise

I've got my hands up
You've got your hands on your gun
Calling for backup
I'm not the only one
I've got a question
Does torturing me sound fun?
Yeah you take out your stress
By punching holes out of everyone