You know when you get halfway through telling a joke
And you realise it's not really that funny?
That's kind of how I feel about this song
But anyway

I bought a Maschine back in 2012
On the box it said plug it in and I'd make beats that would do well
People would consider me the next 2Pac or Eminem
So I turned on my Wifi and prayed to my lord and saviour Adele

But first I had to download two hundred gigabytes of beats
Clear out photographs of loved ones now deceased
I'm sure they'd understand what I do for this music making grind
I heard if art is good enough it always finds a way to shine
So I asked my friend in marketing what I could do to promote my song
He said I had to give him two thousand dollars to turn Google Ads on
Didn't have the cash on me but I'd rather be right than wrong
So I sold all my favourite records just to bring you this song

Gather dust inside a closet
The beat maker's one stop office
Every sound you heard before in
Function dictated by form
Write the drums in perfect rhythm
Imperfections machine-driven
Call yourself a real producer
Genuine Instrument User

If I play this track in a forest will anyone hear it?
Of course but lumberjacks only listen to Ed Sheeran
I wish I was Ed Sheeran right now
But it's like I was saying

So I bought that Maschine back in 2012
Sucked into a void of consumerist sample pack hell
Buy every chopped sound file from Metro Boomin and Estelle
Twelve terabytes of snare hits and orchestral swells
Just to write one hit song about existence and hope it sells
Then retreat to an island where in solitude I count seashells
And be a memory in culture washed away by the tide
But I can't run from my mediocrity let alone hide

Live in colour write in darkness
Shuffles written unknown artist
Smash together disparate notions
Boldness masking actual thought
Write the drums in perfect rhythm
Imperfections machine-driven
Call yourself a real producer
Genuine Instrument user

My dad said when I was young I could have any occupation
But for both our sakes he probably should have lowered his expectations
Because his son's making fake rap beats in an middle class apartment
On mixtapes with no cohesion with no merit as an artist
Who tries hide his lack of talent with a less impressive lexicon
Pretends to read James Joyce in economy class to Comic Con
Where he will sneer at all the geeks while insisting he is different
Because he understands the true meaning of Rick and Morty's inference