There are professors,
Working night and day,
Trying to find out,
Why we lost our way.

They say my mom and dad,
had too much fun,
They spent world’s money
And left me as I stand.

No worries, who cares,
Life-long bank loan in a pocket,
Paper-worth diploma in a hand,
In 30 square-meters palace I roll.

We talkin’ money, gold chains,
We talkin’ toilet rolls,
Foil plated metal bars.
Look at me go.

Research calls us selfish,
I’d love to think world peace.
However, it is me recycling your mess
and I’m made to think about tomorrow’s best.

Try to complain you’re stressed,
If you won’t get called a pussy,
I’d give you one ray of hope,
I have left.

Go fuck your worries away,
National health service will aid,
Back-handed, looking down, they’ll advise:
Preferably eat handed pills and be done.

Xanax in our hands,
Adderall in our mouths,
High performing non-starters,
We burn like litmus on acids.

Cruising with our windows down
In public service.
Joyridin’ ain’t a joy no more,
While we’re cleaning counters and surfaces
With our nerves and noses.

Thinking about ends by night,
Enjoying circus parodies by day,
Dreaming about life in dreams,
Living other’s lives daily.

I’m a suit, I’m an underwood,
Travelling through stargates,
Applying for trips to Mars,
One way anywhere from this farce.

Headphones in our ears,
Fully committed to one-man shows,
We are mother fucking stars.
Tickets always with discounts.

How can you ask us to be simple like you,
When we are the first generation
To get into entry level positions,
requiring 3 years work experience,
While still being in your wombs.