Breathe kids, the mold is getting old.
It'll be gone any day.
The hipster empire of tomorrow,
Will fall to the common kids of today.
With tied wrists we're under their control.
With fists clinched we're taking on the world.
I write down words with cathartic intentions,
But spawn revolutions of minds.

They're asking for my, my head on a plate.
They're asking for my, my head on a plate.
I'm really, really not that conceited.
I swear I'm not.
I'm just trying to bring,
Music back to music.
I define up and coming.
They already came up and went.

I'm loose lipped now shaking back and forth.
Problem fixed. I'm pouring out my soul.
I find the right words to express myself,
Instead of fitting round pegs in round holes.
What a lovely day,
For a symphony,
Full of honesty,
And integrity.
So take this for what it's worth.
Originality's not a curse.

They're asking for my, my head on a plate.
They're asking for my, my head on a plate.
I'm really, really not that conceited.
I swear I'm not.
I'm just trying to bring,
Music back to music.
I define up and coming.
They already came up and went.

They're asking for my, my head on a plate.
They're asking for my, my head on a plate.
I'm really, really not that conceited.
I swear I'm not.
I'm just trying to bring,
Music back to music.
I define up and coming.
They already came up and went.