(words and music by: Z. Walters)      preachy bout a falsehood trade   counting fingers, bout the lot you made    nonchalant don’t care look plastic smile   laughin to the bank with shag hairstyle   catch myself looking around   stuck in the shallow end and it’s makin me drown   lick your finger, and hold it to the sky   grab your sail man and raise it real high, cause      eh, who you think you’re foolin’   eh, who you think you’re foolin’      use it abuse it everytime I swear you bruise it   generically rich with your music   and tears fall when you lose it   turning you on is like a bite from a shark   bet you’d go pop cause your hollow no heart   rooftop, we’re looking down   watching your red flowers turn brown      hit mix, it’s your profession   don’t confuse passion with obsession