Bleachers

(Instrumental)

[Verse 1]
I have ideas, but to these people their nightmares
A 14 year old kid talking about his dad and compares
Him to a fucking serial killer, and I get this false
Sympathy (you're songs are so fire you’ll go down in infamy)
Yo, I got a prank call coming in soon
And a fucked up dad singing a different tune
So I just stand up and stare at the fuckin moon
Cause I can't do anything to change a baboon
And while I'm rapping about it to these teachers
They get happy, and these students get features
But how the fuck am I gonna explain to my family
That i’m making trashy music in my rap sneakers
Everyone hollerin at me, cause I'm an artist not a rapper
You ain't black, you're just another wimpy cracker
Your words mean nothing to me so stop acting blind
You aren't like me, you don't have that type of mind

[Pre-Verse]
Yuh, bleachers
Where I belong
Yea

[Verse 2]
I stay up all night trying to think of something
I'll get Restless tattooed on my face to prove I ain't fuckin
Around, cause I guess these lyrics mean nothing
Telling me to be better cause you listen to people mumblin
Yo, one day when I was crying on my bed
I wrote a couple lines, that sounded really bad
But a couple months later, my music got more rad
But I still feel the pain, and that’s what makes me sad
And while these kids are still playing fortnite
I’m getting publicly humiliated, you guys know right?
I hope ya consider nodding your head to this song
And not sitting on your computer in that skinny thong

[Ending Part]
(I'm fucking done with these people)