(Verse 1)
My neighbor’s dog barks at the mailman like it’s pay-per-view,
But I got bigger problems—my Wi-Fi’s down and so’s my *mood*.
Tried to reboot, now my router’s stuck inside a bowl of soup,
Guess I’ll just sit here naked, scrolling memes in *buffering* loops.
(Pre-Chorus)
Oh no, oh no, my pizza’s cold,
Delivery guy took a detour through the *Twilight Zone*,
I tipped in exposure—now he’s blocking my phone,
*This is fine*, I’ll just eat cereal… alone.
(Chorus)
*Chaos is my cardio*,
My life’s a blooper reel set to demo,
From my plants dying *dramatically slow*,
To my dating profile: *"Will elope for dough."*
(Verse 2)
My ex texted, "U up?" like a cryptid in the night,
I replied with a GIF of a dumpster set alight.
Now they’re crying in my DMs ’bout their *rebound’s* weak game,
Meanwhile, I’m Googling *"Can spite fuel a flame?"*
(Bridge 1)
*Hold up—* did my cat just side-eye me?
Yeah, she judges harder than my *therapy*,
Knocked my coffee over like a *tiny god of war*,
Now my laptop’s screaming *"404."*
(Chorus)
*Chaos is my cardio*,
My credit score’s a *horror show*,
But at least my *vibes* are *radioactive glow*,
And my laundry pile’s achieved *sentient growth*.
(Verse 3)
Tried adulting—*big mistake*,
Burned my toast and my *self-esteem* at stake.
My résumé says *"Professional napper,"*
LinkedIn’s like *"Ma’am, we beg you—unplug the blender."*
(Bridge 2)
*Plot twist*—my plants *faked* their death,
Turns out they’re just *drama queens* with *extra zest*,
Now they’re thriving *out of pure revenge*,
And I’m here clapping like *"Okay, legends."*
(Verse 4)
My therapist said *"Journal your rage,"*
So I wrote *"Why is my toaster judging my life choices?"* in crayon on page…
Eighteen. Now she’s charging *extra*,
For *"interpreting abstract rage as modern art."* Fair.
(Pre-Chorus 3)
Oh no, oh no, my *standards* left,
They packed a U-Haul with my *dignity* and *common sense*,
Now I’m swiping right on *red flags as décor*,
And my *standards* texted *"We’re never coming back… unless there’s s’mores."*
(Chorus 3)
*Chaos is my cardio*,
My life’s a *sitcom* with *no reruns*,
From my *fridge humming show tunes at 3AM*,
To my *ex’s new boo* liking *all my memes*.
(Bridge 3)
*Final boss*—my *sleep paralysis demon*,
Just asked *"You good?"* and handed me *a lemon*,
Now we’re *vibing* to *lo-fi beats of existential dread*,
And my *cat* just filed for *joint custody of the bed*.
(Epic Ending)
So here’s my *manifesto* in *minor key*,
*"I didn’t choose the chaos—it kinda chose me."*
Now I’m *curtsying* to *disaster* like *"Encore,"*
As my *fire alarm* sings *"Happy birthday… to the floor."*
MrsSonicSrooms
