GO HOME BREAD 🍞🍞

You said my blinker came too late,

You called my playlist “moral decay.”

You said, “In section twelve, it’s clear,

That bass should not exceed one’s ear.”

You say that fun’s a waste of time,

You groan at joy like it’s a crime,

A loaf of doom that loves to whine,

You’re made of bread,

But you are dead inside.

And you

Are the worst one yet

That I’ve ever met

Oh you,

Just spread

Your gloom across the internet.

You make me sick

I never cared

You're so unhinged

It makes me kinda scared

You hate loud songs,

You hate the beat —

You’re grumbling crumbs on the backseat.

Gave me the ick

I hit the brakes

A piece of trash that I burned away

Stay in your lane

You're just a backseat bread

You said, “That light was almost red!”

Now that’s all stuck inside my head.

You lecture me on traffic sense,

As if you’re bread with a driver’s license.

You point at cars, you scream, “Too near!”

You calculate my speed in fear.

I try to laugh, but you declare,

“This violates road safety here!”

And you

Are the worst one yet

That I’ve ever met

Stay in your seat,

Don’t talk to me,

You’re misery in pastry form, I see.

You make me sick

I never cared

You're so unhinged

It makes me kinda scared

You hate loud songs,

You hate the beat —

You’re grumbling crumbs on the backseat.

Gave me the ick

I hit the brakes

A piece of trash that I burned away

Stay in your lane

You're just a backseat bread

You quote the manual, page by page,

You say, “Fun causes climate change!”

You’re just a loaf with no appeal,

A bureaucrat with crumbs and zeal.

If joy’s a sin, you’d lead the choir,

Of boring loaves who all expire.

You make me sick

I never cared

You're so unhinged

It makes me kinda scared

You hate loud songs,

You hate the beat —

You’re grumbling crumbs on the backseat.

Gave me the ick

I hit the brakes

A piece of trash that I burned away

Stay in your lane

You're just a backseat bread

You make me sick

I never cared

You're so unhinged

It makes me kinda scared

You hate loud songs,

You hate the beat —

You’re grumbling crumbs on the backseat.

Gave me the ick

I hit the brakes

A piece of trash that I burned away

Stay in your lane

You're just a backseat bread

A piece of trash that I burned away

Stay in your lane

You're just a backseat bread

You're just a backseat bread!

You're just a backseat bread!

You're just a backseat

Next time I’m driving alone.

Seatbelt stays — go home, BREAD!