I Don’t Care

[Hook]
I don't care what you think of me

[Verse 1]
People are stupid, thinking they’re really astute
But the fact is maybe three of you are more than asleep in the booth
Top of the food chain, but you’re the stock in a soup
Broth for the spoon of a profit god of commodity groups
Nobody fucking understands who they are but the broad strokes
Follow the carrot, grin and bear it like the Bosstones frontman
Fuck, man—no point to go through the motions
Devoid of focus or devotion to notice
My motive is unmoving, been there from the beginning
I just want to make music and use it to make a living
Pinning the blame is sitting with you if you don’t know what to do
If you can’t find a single thing in this life you’d like to pursue
It’s absurdity to somebody whose summoning is certainty
Lifetime of learning so I’m earning it deservedly
Nothing’s just right, take your porridge and eat
No happy ending for the story, call it Horace & Pete

[Hook]
I don't care what you think of me

[Verse 2]
My facial expression is a permanent middle finger
Etching down in the pavement of my foundation
A little bigger, and it’d be catastrophic—can’t stop it
So fucking mad and manic that I’m practically catatonic
Aftermath of divorce, always going back and forth
Witnessing the tragic force of an addict off his course
Attacking the pad a last resort without remorse
A pacifist can only bash a fist on walls and doors
Ignoring the way that I look is probably to your benefit
It’s obviously vomitous, no reason to mention it
I look like a piece of shit ‘cause I feel like a piece of shit
Easy to get it, shut your penis eater or eat a dick
Anger is blunt, like a dagger it cuts
You’re nothing but a fucking cantankerous cunt
No coming back down from that now, the angle is up
I’m boiling over ’til I cut the cord and hang all this up
[I don’t care]
Well shut the fuck up or give a damn
You’re tripping or sleeping like eating chicken with tryptophan
I get the fans to pick their hands up, rappers piss their pants
So gifted with four letter phrases, censors have to lift the ban
Backstage I’m pacing, facial tics and aggravation
Lack of patience, fixation with hatred
Aiming to shit on your timid image, this isn’t a scrimmage
Your spitting is skittish
Blemishing tradition—you’re finished

[Hook]
I don't care what you think of me

[Verse 3]
Keep placing myself adjacent to greatest names on your playlist
Facing off or collaborating, I’m as bad as your favorites
Giving lessons in sessions like second graders with braces
Corrected pages with F words and left a stain on your faces
A leper, a savior, my faith it never has wavered
Put a to pen and paper and any effort is savored
Taking the reigns of the underdog, no imminent failure
Indivisible under God? No paper will save you
As much as I want to rip it and go for the throat
Exposing a gimmick, continue rocking the boat
I could argue the music, dispute it note for the note
Fuck it, I’ll stoop to the murder though—it’s all that she wrote
Feeding the monkey on my back, keep it funky when I rap
Eat a street urchin rapper because I’m hungrier than that
Been devouring a track for an hour and a half
At the height of my prowess, there ain’t no power in a nap
You’re about as worthless as a turd of a person
We can observe it, I’m certain
Pulled the curtain averting hurt and I heard your verses are worsening
I’m no stranger to adversity, but you’re cursed
I’m driving your hearse
Never resigned to be terse and let what i said linger
Were you in the cypher at first?
You’re a dead ringer
At my worst on the verse, figures I’m a punk singer
Every time that I rhyme, I’m putting up one finger like

[Hook]
I don't care what you think of me

[Outro]
Motherfuckers act like they're so bad
Shine your fucking shoes
Get your shirts right
Ironed and pressed
Trying to impress
Man, if you don't give a fuck then look at me
What the fuck does that make me, huh?