[Intro]
Vinyl crackles like grandpa's joints
Old paper mill ghosts still haunting these points
Instagram filters on working man's pain
Aesthetic vultures circle again
[Verse 1]
Found his gloves in the attic, covered in dust
Factory calluses, blue-collar rust
Y'all romanticize struggle while sipping cold brew
Posting #WorkingClass, what the f*ck do you do?
My old man's stories ain't your content feed
Ain't your vintage filter or your social media need
Paper mill memories fade like old photographs
While trust fund kids turn poverty into crafts
[Chorus]
Sweet poison of nostalgia
Rewriting history for likes and follows
Sweet poison in my coffee
Working class dreams get hard to swallow
F*ck your aesthetic, this ain't your story
Converting pain into category
[Verse 2]
They love the aesthetics of broken machines
But never felt steam burns or knew what it means
To clock in at six when the world's still dark
While y'all sleep cozy in your gentrified parts
Grandfather's timecard's now a wall decoration
In some hipster café's interpretation
Of what it means to be authentically poor
While real folks still working behind that door
[Bridge]
You wear work boots that never seen dirt
Rock coveralls that never seen hurt
Cosplaying struggle while daddy pays rent
Mining our memories till they're all spent
[Verse 3]
Remember the sound of the mill's last day?
Now it's a backdrop for your TikTok play
Heritage tourism, poverty porn
Selling our stories like vintage second-hand worn
But I still smell oil on these leather gloves
Still feel the weight of the life that was
While you scroll through filters called 'Working Man's Blues'
Trading real stories for social media views
[Outro]
Sweet poison keeps flowing
Through digital veins
Memories distorted
Till nothing remains
But pretty pictures
Of working-class pain
Nolan Lentz - Nostalgia Noir Lyrics
Nolan Lentz - Nostalgia Noir Lyrics
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English
[Intro]
Vinyl crackles like grandpa's joints
Old paper mill ghosts still haunting these points
Instagram filters on working man's pain
Aesthetic vultures circle again
[Verse 1]
Found his gloves in the attic, covered in dust
Factory calluses, blue-collar rust
Y'all romanticize struggle while sipping cold brew
Posting #WorkingClass, what the f*ck do you do?
My old man's stories ain't your content feed
Ain't your vintage filter or your social media need
Paper mill memories fade like old photographs
While trust fund kids turn poverty into crafts
[Chorus]
Sweet poison of nostalgia
Rewriting history for likes and follows
Sweet poison in my coffee
Working class dreams get hard to swallow
F*ck your aesthetic, this ain't your story
Converting pain into category
[Verse 2]
They love the aesthetics of broken machines
But never felt steam burns or knew what it means
To clock in at six when the world's still dark
While y'all sleep cozy in your gentrified parts
Grandfather's timecard's now a wall decoration
In some hipster café's interpretation
Of what it means to be authentically poor
While real folks still working behind that door
[Bridge]
You wear work boots that never seen dirt
Rock coveralls that never seen hurt
Cosplaying struggle while daddy pays rent
Mining our memories till they're all spent
[Verse 3]
Remember the sound of the mill's last day?
Now it's a backdrop for your TikTok play
Heritage tourism, poverty porn
Selling our stories like vintage second-hand worn
But I still smell oil on these leather gloves
Still feel the weight of the life that was
While you scroll through filters called 'Working Man's Blues'
Trading real stories for social media views
[Outro]
Sweet poison keeps flowing
Through digital veins
Memories distorted
Till nothing remains
But pretty pictures
Of working-class pain
Vinyl crackles like grandpa's joints
Old paper mill ghosts still haunting these points
Instagram filters on working man's pain
Aesthetic vultures circle again
[Verse 1]
Found his gloves in the attic, covered in dust
Factory calluses, blue-collar rust
Y'all romanticize struggle while sipping cold brew
Posting #WorkingClass, what the f*ck do you do?
My old man's stories ain't your content feed
Ain't your vintage filter or your social media need
Paper mill memories fade like old photographs
While trust fund kids turn poverty into crafts
[Chorus]
Sweet poison of nostalgia
Rewriting history for likes and follows
Sweet poison in my coffee
Working class dreams get hard to swallow
F*ck your aesthetic, this ain't your story
Converting pain into category
[Verse 2]
They love the aesthetics of broken machines
But never felt steam burns or knew what it means
To clock in at six when the world's still dark
While y'all sleep cozy in your gentrified parts
Grandfather's timecard's now a wall decoration
In some hipster café's interpretation
Of what it means to be authentically poor
While real folks still working behind that door
[Bridge]
You wear work boots that never seen dirt
Rock coveralls that never seen hurt
Cosplaying struggle while daddy pays rent
Mining our memories till they're all spent
[Verse 3]
Remember the sound of the mill's last day?
Now it's a backdrop for your TikTok play
Heritage tourism, poverty porn
Selling our stories like vintage second-hand worn
But I still smell oil on these leather gloves
Still feel the weight of the life that was
While you scroll through filters called 'Working Man's Blues'
Trading real stories for social media views
[Outro]
Sweet poison keeps flowing
Through digital veins
Memories distorted
Till nothing remains
But pretty pictures
Of working-class pain
Writer: Ivan J.
Copyright: Lyrics © Too Lost LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Too Lost LLC