Had Enough

[Verse 1] All my music sounds like middle-class white-boy hip-hop The chorus to this song won’t sound as genuine as it was thought It won’t rock you, not like it wants to God knows the last 4 years of constant sloppy vocal takes Hasn’t fostered any progress in my aptitude This beat, is not on beat The synthesized sounds from a Yamaha keyboard Will never produce anything more Than a kick-snare pattern with some frickin’ cheap chords And even now, I’m trying not to stammer over every word On my left, I see a kid doing acoustic cover songs On my right, I see a kid hitting sampler pads like it’s his job Straight on, I see the same basement bastardy That I’ve seen since I was seventeen The same set of Dell speakers that hiss at +10 dB I’m sorry, give my gratitude for what I have but dude When your emotions want out and their only translator Is these cheap binary signals, you feel a little trapped When I hit play, all I hear amplified is vain calls for adoration There is nothing new under my own creation Memories of past shows are nauseating Lengths I drove to play a couple songs, I hate it Which is more debasing: not being known locally after 4 years or being 20 years old and caring about your music’s download count? None of my work sounds polished I talk off beat because I can’t rap on it How come everyone else seems so flawless? Like they can’t possibly slip and I’m just a wannabe kid Who makes middle-class white-boy hip-hop Don’t tell me to keep grinding unless you’re also going to define it If two albums, a mixtape, and Youtube videos fits in with “grindin'” You’re going to have to find another word to give advice with Cause I’m still trying I’m still writhing for a door to stick my thigh in And I’m still writing a genre of music with too many hyphens Middle-class white-boy hip-hop [Hook] (I have had enough) When your own personality fights against your current definition of success (I have had enough) When you can see your potential self, but only as capable as your flesh (I have had enough) When every person you call a friend bears the mark of your offense, they forgive but don’t forget (I have had enough) When you don’t speak the native love language of the country you were born in, so it reflects you with contempt (I have had enough) [Verse 2] And I’m aware of all of it Just like I’m trapped in a genre of plastic music I’m trapped in a body that refuses To learn the love language of America To know friendliness the way a dictionary does I’m talking years of dumb watching people talk Watching, as peas find pods so naturally They make it look so easy, Mom! How’d I get to be this keyless vault indifferent to being robbed? Why do I deliberate over every trivial thought? I would love to answer these questions if I could But I hardly know how to answer “How are you?” with anything more than “Good.” I leave conversations as stagnant as my music business Please accept this stupid grimace It’s the best I can do when given This enthusiasm-drained body that uses Forced laughter as a Morse code to signal welcome Why’s my output so held up? Had you seen the blank stares, gaping mouths wide Lowered eyebrows, neither would you think these words had a place outside I’m so worn out by the edgy, over-polite Style of speech that I’m always met with I’m sorry I don’t know how to warm my complexion To these ice-breaking questions I do not have the same skills you were blessed with I’m so aware of it I’ve hung out with some of the nicest pretenses you could ever meet Somehow everyone’s just friend of a friend to me The ghost of Cringes Past looks the same as Present, and Yet to Come You’d think incompetence would die of old age but it never does I'm so aware that the only thing I have confidence in is that I’m the only flawed conversationalist on Earth But I swear I have a sense of humor I’m not loose, nor was common sense inherited I’m so painfully aware of it It’s not hard to tell you’re ranked last when you’ve got A thousand names on your back and you’re standing on the shoulders of ants I’m so aware of every interaction I’ve ever slipped in You’re better with kids I’m either a dumb tortoise or a slow hare I’m so aware and… [Hook] [Verse 3] You ever find yourself plagued by parallels? Painted like every piece of nature is spelled and made into A perfect constellation to remind you that you still suck? Hope decays further into endurance the more you say your day will come This summer, I’ll be wrapping sandwiches, changing garbages, and having my flaws highlighted For the third year, I will spend three months debating if things like proactivity and assertiveness Are either being ignored or sleeping in a fairytale fortress We get trained up in the way we guess we should go And when we finish high school, we can’t depart from it Our parents teach us each the only dialect of English we know And that defines how we are known, how we correspond With everything within the reaches of our globe We’re all just one step slower than our ideal And we suffer the recurring wrist slaps A little more diligent A little more considerate Could I actually tackle my shortcomings or would I remain Embarrassed of everything I parent Ignorant to all my interests? I don’t actually have that much depression, guys I just have a lot of dreams and a restless mind I can’t handle being one step behind Sometimes you gotta lay it all down at the feet of the condenser mic It gets you like: [Outro] I have had enough