If That Mockingbird Don't Sing And That

My Overall Look On Things Is A Lot More Mature Than It Used To Be.

A Lot Of The Problems I Had With Fame I Was Bringing On Myself. A Lot Of Self-loathing, A Lot Of Woe-is-me. Now I'm Learning To See The Positive Side Of Things, Instead Of, Like, 'i Can't Go To Kmart. I Can't Take My Kids To The Haunted House.'

I Don't Even Know How To Speak Up For Myself, Because I Don't Really Have A Father Who Would Give Me The Confidence Or Advice.

His Palms Are Sweaty, Knees Weak, Arms Are Heavy There's Vomit On His Sweater Already, Mom's Spaghetti He's Nervous, But On The Surface He Looks Calm And Ready To Drop Bombs, But He Keeps On Forgettin' What He Wrote Down, The Whole Crowd Goes So Loud He Opens His Mouth, But The Words Won't Come Out He's Chokin', How, Everybody's Jokin' Now The Clocks Run Out, Times Up, Over, Blaow!

I Can't Tell You What It Really Is, I Can Only Tell You What It Feels Like.