I’ve been getting stressed out over my hairline
That’s receding cause I’m stressed out all the time
I don’t know what to think about
The world ain’t ever thought about me

And I’ve been getting worked up over the New York Times
And all the paper politicians cleaning up their crimes
I know I shouldn’t read about
The things that never bring about peace

Mark my words
I’m a boy with my father’s mouth
Mark my height
On the wall of my parents’ house

Cars with no gasoline
Tires on the side of the street
I’m in love with the struggle and struggles in love with me

Bills feel like robbery
The AC’s on but it’s blowing heat
I’m in love with the struggle and struggles in love with me

I am one bad review from a breakdown
And a couple bad days from leaving this town
There’s nothing left to fuss about
There’s nothing much that brings me down

And whether I’ve lost my luck or I’m too worked up
I still feel stuck, and sick, and tired of driving

I love it, I love it