I want to be in an instrumental band

Where the singer disappears and the lyrics aren't bland

(Lyrics are so hard)

I want to play all the rhythms and the sounds

Even though my timings off and I am tone deaf as hell

(Pick it up boys)

I want to leach on to the nearest hipster trend

I could teach myself the ropes and become everyone's friend

(Anybody can learn this.)

I'm so dope I could probably sell my soul

To all the cool kids with their records and their marijuana bowls

Elitist, self righteous

Your pseudo-real is like a virus

Mock-up of a figure that is spineless

You aspire to fit in with the mindless

Artificial, unoriginal

Everything about you is A-typical-mirror image of everyone you see

Who else are you becoming?

From her tats, and to her tan, and to her hair

She's the product of a product and she needs someone to care

(Whatever)

All her stories are just made up to inflate a selfish ego that has swelled up passed the point of no escape

(Oh my God)

Drinking abounds just to mask unhappiness

You're perpetuating vanity without a second guess

(Shut up)

A prognosis deemed chameleon effect

You become another person since your life's a fucking wreck

(I'm calling the cops)

Elitist, self righteous

Your pseudo-real is like a virus

Mock-up of a figure that is spineless

You aspire to fit in with the mindless

Artificial, unoriginal

Everything about you is A-typical-mirror image of everyone you see

Who else are you becoming?

Elitist, self righteous

Your pseudo-real is like a virus

Mock-up of a figure that is spineless

You aspire to fit in with the mindless

Artificial, unoriginal

Everything about you is A-typical-mirror image of everyone you see

Who else are you becoming?