CORRECTAR LA LETRA
Letra : Anxious Outcast
I'm a lyrical lyricist
Another masterpiece just to add to the list
Toss me a pen, and I got this
Lebron to AD, I don't miss the assist
And don't call me a Laker now that Kobe's gone
If you think you know me, you're wrong
Young face but old soul
Sometimes I wish I had somebody to hold
Or somebody to hold me
Comfort for the hurt caused by the lies the Devil sold me
You couldn't pay me a billion dollars to go back to the old me
I just wish somebody I trusted would've told me
That if it's not the bread of life, it's moldy
Molded, but instead I got scolded
Kindness leads to repentance, but none was given to me
So the words of Bible-thumpers with no love in their hearts means nothing to me
I'm looking for the ones who read red letters without red eyes
I'm looking for someone spiritual who isn't the Devil in disguise
Suicidal kids listening to the Devil when he lies
Millions of views, and a year later, man time flies
I read your comments and wipe my eyes
That poem saved so many lives
And it kept a whole lotta people here
But I became a target, and I can feel the Devil when he's near
I feel the warmth of his breath when he whispers words of worthlessness into both of my ears
Being alone is what I most fear
You can ask Jamie, I always have to have somebody nearby
But not too close, either
If I had to choose between either, I'd prefer neither
Oh, Clayton, poor thing, my little dear, what's the deal?
You woulda killed yourselves a hundred times by now if you knew how I feel
But I keep waking up and walking forward
I'll still get there, but it takes me a while like my old broken-down Ford
With it's broken-down doors
And it's fifteen-inch kicker in the back
Catch me in the Bronco bumpin' Hillsong one minute, the next, hip-hop and trap
Double genres or double-minded?
Lookin' for stability, but I can't find it
Searching for dirt on me, here's a pile of business, mind it
To my daughter, here's a pile of diamonds, mine it
To my critics, here's a noose, tie it
Not for yourselves, for me
Praying to God I don't live to be forty
They hate them some Clayton Jennings, oh Lordy, oh Lordy
But back to this poetry, the irrelevant bore me
Half a million on YouTube, we did it
Every benchmark they said we'd miss, we hit it
So here's a toast to up up and away
Trying to stay faithful to my wife, but I'm a sl*t to this day
Is that too real for me to say?
Keepin' it one hundred, I guess God made me this way
I made mistakes I can't take away
Mistakes on replay as I lay awake
Feelings of shame that I can't shake
But then I'm reminded that my past is my past
And I passed past my past the last time I passed it
The critics take my past, exaggerate it, and blast it
Other people take their sins, hide it, and mask it
I put mine out for everyone like here, look at this trash, kids
I swear on everything, it works like magic
I'm not talking about Shaq and Penny
I swear people feel freedom when they realize they're not the only ones struggling with sinning
And then I take that L from my critics but flip it right back into winning
I'm walking closer to God than the people telling me I should be repenting
I don't repent for stuff that's not true
Unless it was, and then I did, it's forgotten like a balloon to the blue
In other words, I let it go
Blizzards cover my sins, so God let it snow
Me and God are good to go
People so self-righteous, they act like they don't struggle with sinning
I just took things overboard in that pic flipping birds while grinning
But to be honest, that's how I feel about this system of religion
If you know someone who can take away this anger in me, then get 'em
It's Jesus, Clayton, jeez, would ya listen?
If not to me, to yourself?
What you guys don't know is my poetry sits on this shelf
I don't even listen to myself
I don't think it would be good for my health
Like a glutton for food with a whole lot of wealth
Wanna know the truth? I'd puke because I'd be seeing my guts
I couldn't stomach it
It's not for me, but I'm glad so many of you are lovin' it
It's just therapy for me to write and record
I didn't know it would turn into a line of fans at my door
Clayton, make more, make more
You saved my marriage, you saved my life
You saved my dad, you saved my wife
Woah, this just started as poetry for me to get stuff off my chest
I'd figure maybe a couple hundred would listen at best
Hundreds of millions of views later, and I'm wondering what's next
I don't know how much more of this inspiration inside of me I have left
I wonder what would happen if I just left
There are a whole lotta people watchin' now the last time that I checked
So I'm starting to understand the size of the impact my actions affect
Some people open their hearts up and take my passion direct
And they sit back like listening to this poetry is surgery
And they get a boost from these words like a jolt of electricity
They get a surge from me
Clayton, can you make some more poetry?
Of course, well certainly
How do you rhyme like that?
I don't know, these are just words to me
You say I'm anointed, but it's a curse to me
To wander through life casually
Getting thousands of messages from people asking me
To help, help, help
Can you help me, please, help me?
They need me is what they tell me
Lies are what they sell me
Because if I died today, I'd be forgotten tomorrow
People don't own anything, they only like to borrow
So they don't own their love for me, they just borrow my poetry like it's drugs to me, right?
Each rhyme another line to snort
I could prescribe a million of these poems, but you'd still want more
Do I have fans or patients? I'm still not sure
I'm trying to fade from the spotlight, most people want more
You think about the shells, I think about drowning myself when I stand on the shores
I remember being curled up, suicidal on the floor
My head hurts and my soul is sore
I opened up to you, and you just want more
So here's a list of who I am
I'm an anxious outcast whose mental stability is dire
Now take that list and set it on fire
Sometimes I hate myself, am I preaching to the choir?
If so, I better turn around and preach to the crowd
Turn this up if you got it turned down
Trying to walk the narrow path, but I keep getting turned around
I belong on the table that's lost but not found
And it's weird because people treat me like I'm a boss when I'm around
The only boss I have had thorns for a crown
So I talk to Him when I'm down
And He tells me He loves me, and I just listen
And then He reminds me of my purpose, tell the world is the mission
Another masterpiece just to add to the list
Toss me a pen, and I got this
Lebron to AD, I don't miss the assist
And don't call me a Laker now that Kobe's gone
If you think you know me, you're wrong
Young face but old soul
Sometimes I wish I had somebody to hold
Or somebody to hold me
Comfort for the hurt caused by the lies the Devil sold me
You couldn't pay me a billion dollars to go back to the old me
I just wish somebody I trusted would've told me
That if it's not the bread of life, it's moldy
Molded, but instead I got scolded
Kindness leads to repentance, but none was given to me
So the words of Bible-thumpers with no love in their hearts means nothing to me
I'm looking for the ones who read red letters without red eyes
I'm looking for someone spiritual who isn't the Devil in disguise
Suicidal kids listening to the Devil when he lies
Millions of views, and a year later, man time flies
I read your comments and wipe my eyes
That poem saved so many lives
And it kept a whole lotta people here
But I became a target, and I can feel the Devil when he's near
I feel the warmth of his breath when he whispers words of worthlessness into both of my ears
Being alone is what I most fear
You can ask Jamie, I always have to have somebody nearby
But not too close, either
If I had to choose between either, I'd prefer neither
Oh, Clayton, poor thing, my little dear, what's the deal?
You woulda killed yourselves a hundred times by now if you knew how I feel
But I keep waking up and walking forward
I'll still get there, but it takes me a while like my old broken-down Ford
With it's broken-down doors
And it's fifteen-inch kicker in the back
Catch me in the Bronco bumpin' Hillsong one minute, the next, hip-hop and trap
Double genres or double-minded?
Lookin' for stability, but I can't find it
Searching for dirt on me, here's a pile of business, mind it
To my daughter, here's a pile of diamonds, mine it
To my critics, here's a noose, tie it
Not for yourselves, for me
Praying to God I don't live to be forty
They hate them some Clayton Jennings, oh Lordy, oh Lordy
But back to this poetry, the irrelevant bore me
Half a million on YouTube, we did it
Every benchmark they said we'd miss, we hit it
So here's a toast to up up and away
Trying to stay faithful to my wife, but I'm a sl*t to this day
Is that too real for me to say?
Keepin' it one hundred, I guess God made me this way
I made mistakes I can't take away
Mistakes on replay as I lay awake
Feelings of shame that I can't shake
But then I'm reminded that my past is my past
And I passed past my past the last time I passed it
The critics take my past, exaggerate it, and blast it
Other people take their sins, hide it, and mask it
I put mine out for everyone like here, look at this trash, kids
I swear on everything, it works like magic
I'm not talking about Shaq and Penny
I swear people feel freedom when they realize they're not the only ones struggling with sinning
And then I take that L from my critics but flip it right back into winning
I'm walking closer to God than the people telling me I should be repenting
I don't repent for stuff that's not true
Unless it was, and then I did, it's forgotten like a balloon to the blue
In other words, I let it go
Blizzards cover my sins, so God let it snow
Me and God are good to go
People so self-righteous, they act like they don't struggle with sinning
I just took things overboard in that pic flipping birds while grinning
But to be honest, that's how I feel about this system of religion
If you know someone who can take away this anger in me, then get 'em
It's Jesus, Clayton, jeez, would ya listen?
If not to me, to yourself?
What you guys don't know is my poetry sits on this shelf
I don't even listen to myself
I don't think it would be good for my health
Like a glutton for food with a whole lot of wealth
Wanna know the truth? I'd puke because I'd be seeing my guts
I couldn't stomach it
It's not for me, but I'm glad so many of you are lovin' it
It's just therapy for me to write and record
I didn't know it would turn into a line of fans at my door
Clayton, make more, make more
You saved my marriage, you saved my life
You saved my dad, you saved my wife
Woah, this just started as poetry for me to get stuff off my chest
I'd figure maybe a couple hundred would listen at best
Hundreds of millions of views later, and I'm wondering what's next
I don't know how much more of this inspiration inside of me I have left
I wonder what would happen if I just left
There are a whole lotta people watchin' now the last time that I checked
So I'm starting to understand the size of the impact my actions affect
Some people open their hearts up and take my passion direct
And they sit back like listening to this poetry is surgery
And they get a boost from these words like a jolt of electricity
They get a surge from me
Clayton, can you make some more poetry?
Of course, well certainly
How do you rhyme like that?
I don't know, these are just words to me
You say I'm anointed, but it's a curse to me
To wander through life casually
Getting thousands of messages from people asking me
To help, help, help
Can you help me, please, help me?
They need me is what they tell me
Lies are what they sell me
Because if I died today, I'd be forgotten tomorrow
People don't own anything, they only like to borrow
So they don't own their love for me, they just borrow my poetry like it's drugs to me, right?
Each rhyme another line to snort
I could prescribe a million of these poems, but you'd still want more
Do I have fans or patients? I'm still not sure
I'm trying to fade from the spotlight, most people want more
You think about the shells, I think about drowning myself when I stand on the shores
I remember being curled up, suicidal on the floor
My head hurts and my soul is sore
I opened up to you, and you just want more
So here's a list of who I am
I'm an anxious outcast whose mental stability is dire
Now take that list and set it on fire
Sometimes I hate myself, am I preaching to the choir?
If so, I better turn around and preach to the crowd
Turn this up if you got it turned down
Trying to walk the narrow path, but I keep getting turned around
I belong on the table that's lost but not found
And it's weird because people treat me like I'm a boss when I'm around
The only boss I have had thorns for a crown
So I talk to Him when I'm down
And He tells me He loves me, and I just listen
And then He reminds me of my purpose, tell the world is the mission
