:00–0:12 — Cold Open (Whisper Intro, Lo-fi Ambience)
(spoken, slow, layered like inner thoughts)
“Trying to remember if I left the stove on…or if that’s just my brain melting.”
[soft laugh] Honestly? Same.
Beat starts building underneath — steady 4/4 electronic thump enters
0:13–0:40 — CHORUS 1 (sung, upbeat with bounce)
I’m an autistic Pop-Tart, frosted and fried,
Meltdown couture, party certified.
Sweet on the surface, chaos in core,
Tried to blend in — now I own the floor.
Masking all day, now I’m in my zone,
Juiced up on vibes and questionable tone.
Executive function took PTO,
And my last brain cell said, “girl, let’s go.”
0:41–1:14 — VERSE 1 (rap-style, rhythm sharp)
Walked in late with my shirt inside-out,
Blamed it on vibes, not a single doubt.
Phone at 2%, mood at a 9,
Said “I love you” on accident — twice. Fine.
Asked a hot guy if he’s also afraid
Of mirrors, commitment, and mayonnaise.
Tried to small talk but info-dumped whales,
Now I’m cry-dancing in gluten-free trails.
I stim with my whole chest, no regrets,
But please don’t touch me — I’m fragile and wet.
1:15–1:30 — PRE-CHORUS (builds into drop)
Trying to remember if I left the stove on,
Or if that’s just my frontal lobe playing ping-pong.
Brain’s buffering, heartbeat loud —
Let’s dissociate… but make it loud.
1:31–2:00 — CHORUS 2 (drop kicks in)
Yeah I’m a Pop-Tart, neurospicy queen,
Glitter in my shoes, trauma in between.
I don’t flirt — I freeze, then bolt,
Then text “my bad” from a panic cult.
Ship’s on fire? Fork it, let it toast.
If the world’s gonna melt, I’ll host.
Crown me weird, bless my mess,
ADHD but dressed to impress.
2:01–2:30 — BRIDGE (inner monologue, spoken word)
(beat drops to minimal)
“Did I lock the door? Feed the cat? Text back? Why did I say ‘vibe check’ to a funeral director?”
[beat pauses] Honestly? The stove’s probably on. But I’ll stress about it tomorrow.
2:31–3:00 — CHORUS 3 (slower, darker tone)
I'm a midnight snack with a meltdown plan,
Woke up at 3AM thinking about man…agement. Like emotional management. Chill.
Can’t adult, can’t chill, but I can overfill.
Brain’s got 37 tabs open, one screaming,
One just looping a cat meme I’m feeling.
Tried to meditate — ended up spiraling,
Now I’m dancing like a feral thing.
3:01–3:30 — FINAL VERSE (fast, chaotic)
I want cuddles but don’t touch me,
Want connection but also want to flee.
My love language? Memes and snacks,
And maybe not talking — that slaps.
Bought six planners, forgot ‘em all,
Set goals, forgot the ball.
Burnt out but still high-functioning hot,
I’m not “quirky,” babe — I’m a lot.
3:31–3:55 — FINAL CHORUS (explosive)
Stove’s on, lights out, brain’s at war,
If I vanish mid-party, don’t look — I swore.
Mask peeled off, now I’m raw and true,
Neurospicy chaos — how 'bout you?
3:56–4:00 — MIC DROP OUTRO (spoken, casual deadpan)
“If the stove’s still on…we’ll deal with it after this banger.”
[beat drop ➝ silence]
