Stress Lyrics

I ain’t made a dollar in a minute

Got a bank account, nothing in it

Been a while since I’ve seen triple digits

If they’re handing out awards for being stressed, I’ma win it

Got a place, got a girl, got a car

So try and tell me that it really ain’t hard

You get the feeling you ain’t moving real far

When the place you wanna be isn’t where you really are

Maybe I should count my blessings, not my struggles

I go to work, I’ve been staying out of trouble

Standing on two feet, but I stumble

It happens more and more, got me sitting pretty humble

It’s one step forward, two back again

Still tripping in the place where I’ve always been

Feel sorry for myself and I’m tired of it

Can’t get it out my head and it’s doing me in

(Sick of being broke boy)

I don’t care about a benz, give a fuck about a drop top

(If I was counting notes boy)

I’d be rollin in a cheap ass car, but it’s paid off

(Sick of being broke boy)

Won’t catch me in the back of the club getting faded

(If I was counting notes boy)

Wouldn’t worry at the end of the month if I made rent

Taking my time just to focus

I do my best keeping awake

I don’t know if you can relate

But it’s hard to sleep when you feel so fucking hopeless

But I bottle up these emotions

They build until I can’t see through the commotion

My head is attacking itself with no motive

It’s got me convinced the solution is

Just give up, get fucked up

Pour that shit, empty that cup

So far down, down on my luck

So far down, down on my luck

Just give up, get fucked up

Pour that shit, empty that cup

So far down, down on my luck

So far down, down on my luck, ay, ay

(Sick of being broke boy)

I don’t care about a benz, give a fuck about a drop top

(If I was counting notes boy)

I’d be rollin in a cheap ass car, but it’s paid off

(Sick of being broke boy)

Won’t catch me in the back of the club getting faded

(If I was counting notes boy)

Wouldn’t worry at the end of the month if I made rent

(Sick of being broke boy)

I don’t care about a benz, give a fuck about a drop top

(If I was counting notes boy)

I’d be rollin in a cheap ass car, but it’s paid off

(Sick of being broke boy)

Won’t catch me in the back of the club getting faded

(If I was counting notes boy)

Wouldn’t worry at the end of the month if I made rent