I'm a bit over-emotional
The kind that makes you wonder if it's all for show
Guaranteed, my tears aren't fictional
They may end up causing me some friction, though
I don't trust any kind of instant throats
Got a player sheet underneath an overcoat
Eyes of your maybe girl's Finsta bro
It's a crime your words are like instant oats
No interest in entering the hip-hop scene
When you live on the beach, you got to keep your flip-flops clean
Some people don't get what my lyrics mean
And sometimes that's just how it's got to be
I heard that my friends are into me
But not romantically, just musically
Say "Who is he? He made that beat?
Now that's a new kind of instant C, coin, I mean
I wonder if he'll get to be
One of the people who plays TV
Somebody call Ellen, call NBC!"
I really want people to look at me
I wanted to believe that I had a purpose
Questioning myself was making music worth it?
Do I believe in things with a purpose
Hiding on islands where nothing can hurt us
I wanted to believe that I had a purpose
Questioning myself was making music worth it?
Do I believe in things with a purpose
Writing on islands where nothing can hurt us
Do you believe in a kind of truth
That can set you free from the lies of youth?
I don't believe you put two and two
Together for me just so you can vibe and groove
So pull up for me, write a story, what's the move?
I wanted to believe that I had a purpose
Questioning myself was making music worth it?
Do I believe in things with a purpose
Hiding on islands where nothing can hurt us
I wanted to believe that I had a purpose
Questioning myself was making music worth it?
Do I believe in things with a purpose
Writing on islands where nothing can hurt us