SEARCHING Watsky

[Verse 1]
Hey, hey. It’s motherfuckin syndrome
Trucking— it’s been a minute since I been home
Stuck in memories that I can’t shake
But the same way daddy’s wedding ring’s ingrown
That’s how the microphone mesh is sewn in my own flesh
Professional roadie til I’m dead— Phil Lesh
Filet on the grill but my gills still gasp
Gassed but I last cause the thrill’s not passed
Gotta write my will but I don’t make time
Cause I made a couple dimes off the way I rhyme
So there’s something in the bank for those lеft behind
But their last name won’t bе mine, unless it’s mom and dad
I used to think I was just Peter Pan
Soon I’d go and grow up and I'd go be the man
The way I was supposed to be
And I’d be living closer to the way the people close to me
Are living but it’s long enough to know I see
This is who I really am, and this is who I want to be
And maybe I’m you’re an oddity but baby it’s your odyssey

[Chorus]
Whatcha looking for, tell me whatcha looking for?
(I’m not lost, I’m searching)
Whatcha looking for, tell me whatcha looking for?
(Not sure, I’m not quite certain)
Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me
Tell me whatcha looking for, tell me whatcha looking for?
(I’m not lost, I’m just searching for you)