Tick Tick Tick
A wild gypsy punk, Balkan brass, and circus cabaret intro crashes into 90s West Coast Hip Hop grooves—deep G-Funk bass, gritty boom bap drums, chaotic accordion, klezmer violin licks and tuba lines twist with phonk cowbells, glitch hop FX, distorted 808s, cartoon bursts, screaming sirens, talkbox melodies, whistle synths, and manic, barked chant choruses, Lo-fi club textures, experimental jazz breaks, street-march drumrolls, and riotous ad-libs mash into a relentless, ironic hyper pop carnival, raw and theatrical from start to finish
Tick Tick Tick
A wild gypsy punk, Balkan brass, and circus cabaret intro crashes into 90s West Coast Hip Hop grooves—deep G-Funk bass, gritty boom bap drums, chaotic accordion, klezmer violin licks and tuba lines twist with phonk cowbells, glitch hop FX, distorted 808s, cartoon bursts, screaming sirens, talkbox melodies, whistle synths, and manic, barked chant choruses, Lo-fi club textures, experimental jazz breaks, street-march drumrolls, and riotous ad-libs mash into a relentless, ironic hyper pop carnival, raw and theatrical from start to finish
Lyrics
Intro
I don’t really say this.
But sometimes
I’m not scared of people.
I’m scared of myself.
Verse 1
It feels like something’s counting down.
Inside my mind.
Am trying to defuse it but.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I act normal.
I talk normal.
But inside
I know I’m holding a lot.
And I don’t know
what happens
if I stop holding it.
Hook
Tick…
tick…
tick…
I don’t like this version of me.
Tick…
tick…
tick…
Verse 2
I trusted people
who ate me like leeches.
They got what they needed.
I stayed behind with it.
I keep thinking
how did I not notice.
All are fake.
Conversations.
Moments.
I feel stupid.
Not angry first.
Just stupid.
I respect enemies more.
At least they don’t hide it.
Friends who use you
and smile about it
that’s different.
Hook
Tick…
tick…
tick…
I don’t like this version of me.
Tick…
tick…
tick…
Outro
It’s not about them anymore.
It’s about
what I might become
if I let this sit for long.