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