Sold my soul to write some songs that I don't care about Was really hoping I'd get loaded but I'm selling out Sold out shows and endless hoes, it only brings me down But I chose to take that money, win or lose 'Cause it all means nothing, but it's nothing new Got what's coming 'cause they made me choose You could fight for something, baby, what's the use? 'Cause they'll take it from you, till you think it's you Every night I'm drinking, thinking I should quit Even though I hate this, tryna make it fit Sick of all these fake pricks, saying I'm the shit Oh, they had me thinking maybe this was it This was it, this was it, yeah This was it, this was it, yeah This was it, this was it, yeah Oh, this was it, this was it, yeah I don't know which ones my bros, from those who hang around Way back home I tried to show them, want to make them proud I was supposed be the one that they all spoke about How the fuck I get here drowning on this roof? 'Cause it all means nothing, but it's nothing new Got what's coming 'cause they made me choose You could fight for something, baby, what's the use? 'Cause they'll take it from you, till you think it's you Every night I'm drinking, thinking I should quit Even though I hate this, tryna make it fit Sick of all these fake pricks, saying I'm the shit Oh, they had me thinking maybe this was it This was it, this was it, yeah This was it, this was it, yeah This was it, this was it, yeah Oh, this was it, this was it, yeah Tryna write this new one thinking that it's sick Probably stealing lines though, from some better shit Anyways we're high bro, sorry, if we did We're just tryna write some kind of fucking hit This is it, this is it, yeah This is it, this is it, yeah This is it, this is it, yeah Oh, this is it, this is it, yeah Every night I'm drinking, thinking I should quit Even though I hate this, tryna make it fit Sick of all these fake pricks, saying I'm the shit Oh, they had me thinking maybe this was it Every night I'm drinking, thinking I should quit Even though I hate this, tryna make it fit Sick of all these fake pricks, saying I'm the shit Oh, they had me thinking maybe this was it Land of broken dreams, guess I'm just another cliché Writing all this pop shit, faking it in LA Guess I should've listened, you know what they say If you sell your soul for pay checks, you're the one who pays