Chorus:
Can you hear it? It’s gotta tink.
That’s me, with everything.
Always underneath the sink. For real.
Banging on the pipes like, come on, man, think.
Verse 1:
Come on, man, think. Been drumming on the thing.
Up and underneath it since a youngin’, sucking on a bink.
Grow up fumbling in the fringes and hung up on the kinks.
Now, this rumbling’s got me wondering that something’s out of sync?
Come on, man, think. Let that monkey wrench swing.
Just start punching it cause tinkering has done you nothing.
Lot of junk in the bin. I should dump it all in,
Talking junctions and links, sump pumps, and linchpins.
Ah!
Let that sink in. Man, it’s funny how it’s been.
Hammer punctured through an inch, and it sprung a leak within.
Can’t undo what I did. Clamps unable to cinch.
Hands numb, and once again, the damn plumbing’s on the brink.
Chorus (x2)
Verse 2:
Still wrenching on it. Got the crescent bent with these stresses on it.
Leverage on it, probably make a lesser apprentice vomit.
Better check your stomachs cause this pressure head never plummets.
Tension’s at the edge in excess if you ever want it.
Let’s be honest. Everybody likes it turbulent.
You put a little bit of current in,
Get the innerworkings circling,
And you’re gonna end up certain this
Amateur’s way better than a journeyman.
I’mma burst if it gets any worse than this.
Somebody better need to get a tourniquet.
Temperature’s at the verge of a surge again.
Submerged in the murk, and I’m worrying
It’s permanent, not worth the risk.
Do I really think I’m that impervious?
That sure-footed, when the whirly hits?
Thought I learned already what a swirly is.
If I earn a bit, will the hurting quit?
Will I ever let myself try surfacing?
It’s always agony. Ever gasp is at capacity.
I’m flat on my back, rasping. These black mold patches
Keep latching onto the cabinetry. I’m maxed, and I have to be
Cause slacking even halfway means that ain’t no masterpiece.
Bridge:
Whoo. So cruel to myself. It’s cool, though.
Been schooled in it well. And retooling is too grueling,
So I’m done fooling around with the tools in my belt.
Chorus (x2)
Verse 3:
Ever since I hopped underneath the faucet,
I’ve been working nonstop, redefining obsessed.
Whole clock. No problem. Even as a novice,
I was booking, putting in the hours, looking ahead.
Sockets on the job like they got caulked, yet,
Often, what they saw were the wrong optics.
Got caught with a toolbox full of nonsense.
Costless? It was not. I still feel the losses.
It’s obvious I went in soldering before I oughta been.
Was clocking in too late to bother with the manual.
Hotheaded, incompetent, and overconfident.
It took a project just to drop the ignorance and stop to fix the issues.
Auditing and auditing like there was fraud in it.
Ironic since I thought the objective involved some profiting.
But wrong again. It’s not what’s pocketed that makes the product.
It’s the opposite. You wanna top the lists?
You gotta connect with your audience.
Ended up over my head with it, panicking, thinking of ending it.
Had to go back, fundamental it, back to the metal and bend a bit.
Look at the negatives. Look for the benefits.
Open the vent and just let them in. Show them what dented it.
That’s how they’re gonna connect with it: resonance.
Better yet, throw in the sediment.
Go with the dirt like you misheard the sentiment.
Bridge (x1)
Chorus (x1)
End Chorus:
Can you hear it? It kinda clinks.
That’s me. And I’m the king.
Always in it deep with some dings. For real.
Banging on the pipes like, come on, man, think.
EJShaun.com 