Indoctrinated into a tribe of the musically unkind
Where the pretense of a scene can overrule a fragile mind
Until a boxticking system closes doors to outside
I mean you’ll look pretty cool but a part of you will die
And when I say you look cool I mean only to your friends
The general opinion is you act like a bell-end
Your arrogance is based on a personal preference
And that preference is based on your scenes consensus

Masses with the live for the weekend mentality
Caught up with the illusion of individuality
Care not for your clubnights the fake alternative
You’re just another group of youths going out and getting pissed
I am the guy stood against the wall at the club
Watching dollies and peacocks dance and get drunk
And when the chorus kicks in they all sing along
And I watch their mouths fade away while they all get the verses wrong

I’m not saying I’m any better
I fall for the same traps as well
But at least I can admit it
At least I can admit that I’m boring as hell