Poor Boy

You do what you love, put your blood, sweat, tears into it They love what you do, it's a deal, can't get out of it, and I was throwing out the pens and paper I keep running, but it's smell you later I'm a poor boy from the country What does Los Angeles want with me? Sitting at my desk last week Now I'm tryna be forgotten (Argh!) (Argh!) Look at me, look at me, look at me Me and my ego sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G Nothing new, boy, I do it every week I'm a rockstar, punk rock though Soccer mom kind, there's some Chicago Shitty business at the rock show Looking good, bro, where's your head, though? I'm not gonna lie, but it kinda hurts a little bit Especially when I try to think I can smell a thousand rhymes running in the thick of it Something's gonna start to stink (ha) I'm a poor boy from the country What does Los Angeles want with me? Sitting at my desk last week Now I'm tryna be forgotten I don't care what you've heard Industry's a dirty word Sing it loud, sing a little louder Sitting on the fence last week Now I'm tryna be forgotten La-la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la La-la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la I'm a poor boy from the country What does Los Angeles want with me? Sitting at my desk last week Now I'm tryna be forgotten I don't care what you've heard Industry's a dirty word Sing it loud, sing a little louder Sitting on the fence last week Now I'm tryna be forgotten You do what you love, put your blood, sweat, tears into it They love what you do, it's a deal, can't get out of it