Indoctrinated into a tribe of the musically unkind,
where the pretense of a scene can overrule a fragile mind
until a boxticking system closes doors to outside.
I mean you’ll look pretty cool but a part of you will die,
and when I say you look cool I mean only to your friends
the general opinion is you act like a bellend.
Your arrogance is based on a personal preference
and that preference is based on your scenes consensus.
Masses with the live for the weekend mentality,
caught up with the illusion of indiduality.
Care not for your clubnights the fake alternative,
you’re just another group of youths going out and getting pissed.
I am the guy stood against the wall at the club
watching dollies and peacocks dance and get drunk,
and when the chorus kicks in they all sing along
and I watch their mouths fade away while they all get the verses wrong.
I’m not saying I’m any better
I fall for the same traps as well.
But at least I can admit it,
at least I can admit that I’m boring as hell.
