Letra Sex, Drugs, Rock ‘n’ Roll - Will Wood
This is a desk job, a data entry five to niner
Yeah, I guess I’m my own boss, but everyone’s my supervisor
Tell me, what kind of living legend would only want a living wage?
Because I just turned 27 and I’m dying of old age
Guess I’m just selfish, I wanna have but not be had
And I think, “Can I sell this? The rainfall’s a windfall, the fourth wall a paywall” whenever things get bad
So this is what I choose to do with my redeeming quality
That thing that came from the same place as my instability
It’s not a gift if you pay for it, but I don’t want no charity
I spent all my years to end up right here, and now I really think I’d rather leave 'cause
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate music and my lack of self-control
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate proving that I’m still human after all
It’s the death of the author, you read between white chalk outlines
Well if the pen’s that much stronger, then call this hare kari as I kamikaze to my career suicide
I hate these Easter bunny encores, 2 and 4 beat claps
Stockade stages, applause and praise and trying to chuck tomatoes back
Newsfeeds, groupies, critics, analytics
And starry-eyed stalkers who demand a man in lipstick
And a role model psycho but an echo in their chamber
Martyr to their dollar but a baby in a manger
Effigy on the alter: the parish they brandish their torches and sway to this love song
Screaming “Virginia, walk on my water!”
Their apocryphal daughters with nerf armor and ARs
Who want me caught with red hands, cut my wrists and make me put white gloves on
So go ahead sure, drink my kool-aid, it wouldn’t mix well with my meds
But there’s demand and a market for my brand scars, and I can’t treat the trademarks in my head
I hate to be “that guy,” but I’m not that guy anymore, and I made goddamn sure he’s dead
And I would dance on his grave, but the music that I play seems to say “take me instead,” so
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate music and my lack of self-control
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate music, and I hate you kids
And I hate putting up fourth walls
And I hate proving that I’m still human after all
I hate proving that I’m still human
Yeah, I guess I’m my own boss, but everyone’s my supervisor
Tell me, what kind of living legend would only want a living wage?
Because I just turned 27 and I’m dying of old age
Guess I’m just selfish, I wanna have but not be had
And I think, “Can I sell this? The rainfall’s a windfall, the fourth wall a paywall” whenever things get bad
So this is what I choose to do with my redeeming quality
That thing that came from the same place as my instability
It’s not a gift if you pay for it, but I don’t want no charity
I spent all my years to end up right here, and now I really think I’d rather leave 'cause
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate music and my lack of self-control
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate proving that I’m still human after all
It’s the death of the author, you read between white chalk outlines
Well if the pen’s that much stronger, then call this hare kari as I kamikaze to my career suicide
I hate these Easter bunny encores, 2 and 4 beat claps
Stockade stages, applause and praise and trying to chuck tomatoes back
Newsfeeds, groupies, critics, analytics
And starry-eyed stalkers who demand a man in lipstick
And a role model psycho but an echo in their chamber
Martyr to their dollar but a baby in a manger
Effigy on the alter: the parish they brandish their torches and sway to this love song
Screaming “Virginia, walk on my water!”
Their apocryphal daughters with nerf armor and ARs
Who want me caught with red hands, cut my wrists and make me put white gloves on
So go ahead sure, drink my kool-aid, it wouldn’t mix well with my meds
But there’s demand and a market for my brand scars, and I can’t treat the trademarks in my head
I hate to be “that guy,” but I’m not that guy anymore, and I made goddamn sure he’s dead
And I would dance on his grave, but the music that I play seems to say “take me instead,” so
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate music and my lack of self-control
I hate sex, I hate drugs, and I hate rock n’ roll
And I hate music, and I hate you kids
And I hate putting up fourth walls
And I hate proving that I’m still human after all
I hate proving that I’m still human
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Good Morning, Campers!
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