[Intro]

[Verse 1]
How many days can we wake up and realise it's not worth the devotion we make to check the book of Face, tweet away, tumblr, Snapchat/Instagram? But who cares? Who cares what twelve people have done with old clothes on BuzzFeed, or what my aunt Shelly did with a fucking panini? I have no obligation to family or meals, no, I spend my time looking at maymays
Slap
"Memes!"
Who gives a shit about your dog, when some guy I don't know has put a picture of Filthy Frank over Bambi's mum's corpse? Who cares about work when your worth lies within a severe lack of self-worth and your cry for help is to make a gay image and put it on the internet for no-one to see? But that's consolidation, because I'll have you know the divide between dog and doge is more important than that of black and white. Where I don't know if I can decide whether to listen to "All Star" or "Numb," so I just put them both on. That's a lie, I just listen to twenty øne piløts but unlike every choker-wearing I'm-the-only-girl-who-says-"RAWR" emo-ass MCR weeb-girls, this attention-seeking bisexual girl doesn't have a sexual attachment to twenty-øne year old guys. I just have a little thing for clip-art frogs on unicycles and fat spider-men screaming in the mirror

[Verse 2]
You wouldn't understand, it's just a phase. But have you been mourning a gorilla for over a hundred-and-seven days? Or does your priority lie with ironically caring about the environment? Or you just care about what colour the fucking blue and black dress was? But in reality, I have white Vans, I have a kazoo, uh, Caveman SpongeBob. And can we just mention how I brushed so lightly over the two most controversial memes of all time?
Because in reality, when they want something, they Google it. But here in Dankland, we know better. Because Google can't tell you why your Les Paul 84 isn't selling, although two 83s just went, and twenty-one years of pawn shop experience counts for something?
But your busy bitching because D.J. Trump won the popular vote? I don't care, because the President of the United States is a meme, and that's good enough for me. But I'm me, and when I fall, I don't just spill my mom's spaghetti. I spill it where I strategically spell out "Send n***s" but my Dark Kermit wanted me to spray water and soap on my floor so I would fall. But if that's not good enough for you, put this track back and speed it up each time I make a reference--

[Skit]

[Verse 3]
--Sprinkling some salt to season my lamb sauce. Clench your fists because you need your hands closed to prepare yourself for the dancing we're about to do, because I'm feeling free. I don't care if you've never appreciated the Trash Dove meme, because some people still laugh at the Holocaust. But we are Shooting Stars, heading towards a Lazy Town, where what's yours is mine and Gabe the dog dies. Living through Shrek 2 to count the number of times Donkey says "Donkey"
You can sit down and lecture me on normality but You Reposted in the Wrong Neighbourhood so you can catch me outside, how 'bout that?

[Outro]