I've been getting stressed out over my hairline

That's receding cause I'm stressed out all the time

I don't know what to think about

The world ain't ever thought about me

And I've been getting worked up over the New York Times

And all the paper politicians cleaning up their crimes

I know I shouldn't read about

The things that never bring about peace

Mark my words

I'm a boy with my father's mouth

Mark my height

On the wall of my parents' house

Cars with no gasoline

Tires on the side of the street

I'm in love with the struggle and struggles in love with me

Bills feel like robbery

The ac's on but it's blowing heat

I'm in love with the struggle and struggles in love with me

I am one bad review from a breakdown

And a couple bad days from leaving this town

There's nothing left to fuss about

There's nothing much that brings me down

And whether I've lost my luck or I'm too worked up

I still feel stuck, and sick, and tired of driving