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 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 Chorus 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 Verse 2 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 Chorus 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