I remember a time when the internet was all but none existent

Sitting reading a book was an ordinary, ordinary reaction

People had to work hard to retain the information internalise it

It gave everyone a voice a point of view and then it polarised it

It’s a form of torture for me honey

Children getting milked for their data money

Ain’t it sad to see

I wanna thank you for writing it down

I want a hundred dollar bill in the palm of my hand

Just like I’m meant to for honing my skill

I wanna get wet, get paid, get upset again

We’re more connected now yet we communicate worse than ever

(mark unread)

A robot’s coming for your job and now your boots and all your leather

(kiss your family farewell)

A market place allowing free trade, sweat shops, dark web prophet

(get your guns from me)

They’re listening to whatever we do then interrupt with the perfect product

I wanna thank you for writing it down

I want a hundred dollar bill in the palm of my hand

Just like I’m meant to for honing my skill

I wanna get wet, get paid, get upset again

And in my minds eye

I can control this habit

I’m waiting to decide

If I will let you have it

I wanna thank you for writing it down

I want a hundred dollar bill in the palm of my hand

Just like I’m meant to for honing my skill

I wanna get wet, get paid, get upset

Though I’m grateful, for you playing my song, don’t want an algorithmic hell to judge my soul

From someone’s basement or swimming pool

When the music turns to data driven code

I wanna get wet, get paid, get upset again

I wanna get wet, get paid, get upset again