You need your name said loud just to feel awake, Need applause every breath like it’s air you take. Every room gotta bend, every mic gotta glow, If they don’t clap fast enough, you explode. You forget what you said, then deny what you meant, Then attack anyone pointing out the dents. Memory slipping, but the mouth still runs, And somehow you’re still holding nuclear guns. You beef with allies like it’s playground shit, Turn friends into foes just to feel legit. Can’t tell who’s with you, can’t tell what’s real, But you’re one bad mood from a global kill switch deal. Hook (chant / aggressive) Hey Don— Get the fuck out the chair. Hey Don— You’re not all there. Hey Don— This ain’t your stage or your crown, You’re gambling lives just to hear your name sound. Hey Don— Get the fuck out now. Verse 2 You don’t want truth, you want praise on tap, You don’t want peace, you want stats and claps. You don’t lead shit, you perform in rage, Like the world’s just a mirror and you’re trapped on stage. You call it strength, but it’s loud insecurity, Calling chaos “order,” calling fear “authority.” You wake up pissed at ghosts from the past, Then threaten the future ‘cause the spotlight won’t last. And everybody knows it, but nobody moves, ‘Cause the system’s scared of what you might do. If we wouldn’t give you car keys at night, Why the fuck do you still control this kind of firepower, right? Hook Hey Don— Get the fuck out the chair. Hey Don— You’re not all there. Hey Don— This ain’t a brand or a game, It’s the fate of a country, not your ego campaign. Hey Don— Get the fuck out now. Bridge (slower, venomous) This ain’t politics, this is pathology, Ego so loud it drowns reality. You need worship like a drug in your veins, And you’ll burn the whole world just to feel praised. Crowns don’t fix what’s cracked in the head, They just make the fallout look cinematic and red. Power plus decay is a deadly equation, And you’re proof that attention is not qualification. Verse 3 (final attack) You confuse fear with respect every time, Confuse volume with truth, confuse bullshit with signs. History ain’t cheering, it’s watching in shock, Like “How the fuck did we hand this man the clock?” You want statues, chants, your name in lights, Even if the cost is sleepless nights worldwide. But leadership ain’t applause or fame, It’s knowing when you’re done and stepping the fuck away. Final Hook (crowd-ready) Hey Don— Get the fuck out the chair. Hey Don— You’re not all there. Hey Don— This ain’t your world to burn down, Just ‘cause you’re scared you won’t be remembered now. Hey Don— Get. The fuck. Out. Outro (cold, spoken) You don’t need more praise. You need to be stopped. And the world’s tired of pretending otherwise