backup - guardin

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 boy whose 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 requests

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, whoa oh 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