Who I'm Singin' To - Bug Hunter

Step 1, write a simple chorus don’t bore

us with an intro or a clever little verse

step 2, stop pretending theres some kind of

formula for making it I’ve never been so sure

only time will tell me if I’m something,

if I’m cursed or if I’m cunning, if I’m talented or stale

cause every song is an attempt to just impress you,

its an educated guess to light a bulb or ring a bell

And here I am as I cut corners on a left turn up a sentimental street

All I do I do to make my parents

proud of who I am or who I’m 'bout to be

Here I am gotta hand it to me, I can write a tune

I guess success just still depends on who I’m singing to

Working hard, feeling tense, worrying about my fashion sense

Since when do I give up an inch to incidental tackiness

I’m disoriented, so distracted from my bit

but should I fight to force the issue when I’m out of lubricant

to help this, to help my words come easy, to help to ease the heat we

generate from friction wishin' inspiration wouldn’t treat me

like I’m a leper build me right up to the edge

of legend just to pull back leaving fame inside my head

I’m at an open mic, feeling like that token guy

«Please buy My CD’s its worth 10 dollars but I’ll take a five»

so much talent balanced on a rusty knife

can I compete with guys who have been playing their entire lives?

For I am tied to mind my manners and my language

cuz 'hecks the only exclamation I can get away with

cuz my grandmas gonna listen to this and I still refuse

to sway her sweet opinion of me or lose her approval

but it’d be nice to emphasize the weight of what I say

tell me which one will convince you that

I’m finally okay?

I’m Okay, or I’m Goddamn Okay

And here I am as I cut corners on a left turn up a sentimental street

All I do I do to make my parents

proud of who I am or who I’m 'bout to be

Here I am gotta hand it to me, I can write a tune

I guess success just still depends on who I’m singing to

I’m not a gambler but I bet you’re esoteric

tearing down these local artists as too poppy or generic

it’s apparent you regard your judgement in such high esteem

but it’s as welcome as americans as tourists overseas I’m seein

I’m Seein people asking where they go to find my stuff

A dozen albums sold, to me its like a treasure,

But I guess I’m far from guiness I’m not setting any records

and I’m making Indie music that will never top the charts

but like the greatest chef’s in Paris my fanbase is getting larger

I’m half a hermit introverted if I’m honest

the fact I’m here’s a testament to how badly I want it

I’ve no aversion to searching, to look or wonder

or to try out different styles or to leave my zone of comfort

cause I can flirt with burning

candles but they’ll either all extinguish

or they’ll blacken all my fingers

till I lose all sense of feeling I like

I like my girls like I like my schedule — hectic

I like beauty, smarts and talent but that orders alphabetic

I’m a sucker for independence a girl who needs her space

because I used to cling like static back when I was a teenager

I may never recapture the happiness of that first love

'cause I was unaware of what a heartache really was

so now I guard a little harder lusting for a crush

and I can see its so unhealthy when it bubbles up at once

I’m not breaking any ground I think this problem’s pretty ancient

its the fabric of a classic passed down every generation

So to summarize this song for all

the people that’ve been watching this

find another artist if you don’t like stream of consciousness