G           G                   G
This is a desk job. a data entry five to niner
                     G         G                     G
Yeah I guess I’m my own boss, but everyone’s my supervisor
                      Am                                C
Tell me what kind of living legend would only want a living wage?
          Am                        D
Because I just turned 27 and I’m dying of old age
                 G           G                  G
Guess I’m just selfish. I wanna have but not be had
                     G                           G
And I think “can I sell this? the rainfall’s a windfall the fourth wall a paywall”
                      G
– whenever things get bad
    Am                                      C
So this is what I choose to do with my redeeming quality
       Am                                            D
That thing that came from the same place as my instability
           Am                                            C
It’s not a gift if you pay for it, but I don’t want no charity
           Am                                                                 D
I spent all my years to end up right here, and now I really think I’d rather leave cause

Chorus:
        G             D       G               C       Am
I hate xxx. I hate drugs. And I hate rock n’ roll. And I hate music and my
 C                D
lack of self-control
         G          D         G               C        Am                   C
I hate xxx. I hate drugs. And I hate rock n’ roll. And I hate proving that I’m
                   G
still human after all

Verse 2:
          G                    G                                 G
It’s the death of the author – you read between white chalk outlines
             G                                             G
Well if the pen’s that much stronger; then call this hare kari as I kamikaze
                G
to my career suicide
               Am                        C
I hate these easter bunny encores, 2 and 4 beat claps.
     Am                                            D
Stockade stages, applause and praise, trying to chuck tomatoes back.
Am                                            C
Newsfeeds, groupies, critics, analytics, and starry-eyed stalkers who
                                Am
demand a man in lipstick, and a role model psycho but an echo in their
           D                                        D
chamber, martyr to their dollar but a baby in a manger


G                           G
Effigy on the alter: the parish they brandish their torches and sway to this
G
love song
G
“Virginia, walk on my water!” Their apocryphal daughters with nerf armor
     G                                             G
and ARs who want me caught with red hands cut my wrists and make me
             G
 put white gloves on

Verse 3:
         Am                                       C
So go ahead sure, drink my kool-aid. It wouldn’t mix well with my meds
              Am
But there’s demand and a market for my brand scars, and I can’t treat the
 D
trademarks in my head
                Am                                                 C
I hate to be “that guy,” but I’m not that guy anymore. And I made God damn sure he’s dead
               Am                                                        D
And I would dance on his grave, but the music that I play seems to say take me instead. So

Chorus:
        G            D         G                C         Am
I hate xxx. I hate drugs. And I hate rock n’ roll. And I hate music and my
C                 D
lack of self-control
        G           D         G               C        Am
I hate xxx. I hate drugs. And I hate rock n’ roll. And I hate music
    C
And I hate you kid
    Am                    D
And I hate putting up fourth walls
   Am                   C                      G
And I hate proving that I’m still human after all
Am                   C                G
I hate proving that I’m still human