Backup

Backup
Got some money in my pocket
But that doesn't make a difference at all, at all, at all
This isn't fame I'm fuc*** lame
I'm just boy whose tryna figure it out, it out, it out
Well maybe this is fuc*** it
The audience has turned against
They wanna justify the creepin' and leak my mom's home address
The paranoia rises best when your words sit inside my chest
I'm fuc*** human don't forget that when you're making your requests

I've got my hands up
You've got your hands on your gun
Calling for backup
I'm not the only one
I've got a question
Does torturing me sound fun
Yeah, you take out your stress
By punching holes out of everyone
Got some whiskey in my cup
But I don't think that it's enough at all, at all, at all
This isn't me I tell myself
I constantly worry about my health, whoa oh oh
Well maybe I should fuc*** try
'cause death is creepin' right behind
I see him sitting in the corner lookin' oh so fuc*** sly
Anxiety is on the rise when he's constantly on my mind
I fear the day is finally coming where I meet my own demise
I've got my hands up
You've got your hands on your gun
Calling for backup
I'm not the only one
I've got a question
Does torturing me sound fun
Yeah, you take out your stress
By punching holes out of everyone