Burn the Fucking Tent – Alainn Library

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Mischief
Divide and conquer, rinse, repeat. We fight for scraps beneath the lights. They own the tent and sell the rights. 🎪🔥

00:00

We built a beast from papier-mâché,
Sent it down Main Street Saturday.
You shook the cage, I screamed on cue,
Then sold the town what scared ’em blue.

I wore the halo, you wore the horns,
Rehearsed the fight before the show.
Threw fake blood on your rented suit,
You winked, I cried, the cameras zoomed.

Same damn circus, different doors,
Your fans hated mine, mine hated yours.
We counted cash behind the screen—
Best little war you’ve ever seen.

You stole my cut, I changed my lines,
Keep ’em fighting, hide the crime.
We sold the fear, we split the take—
You got greedy, I exposed the fake.

Burn the fucking tent tonight!
Feed the cover-up, kill the lights.
You bring the gas, I’ll strike the match—
Sell the lie and burn the facts.

You cut my share, you kept my face,
Found a cheaper saint to take my place.
Same old speech, a younger grin—
You even let her keep my wings.

So I took the beast out for a walk,
Booked six podcasts, learned to talk.
Posted the takes where you missed your cue,
Kept out the shots of me helping you.

Now I’m the brave one breaking ranks,
Link in my bio, many thanks.
My conscience found its voice at last—
Right between two sponsor ads.

Same damn circus, different doors,
Now I’m selling backstage tours.
Pay a little more to see
Exactly what you paid to believe.

You stole my cut, I changed my lines,
Keep ’em fighting, hide the crime.
We sold the fear, we split the take—
You got greedy, I exposed the fake.

Burn the fucking tent tonight!
Feed the cover-up, kill the lights.
You bring the gas, I’ll strike the match—
Sell the lie and burn the facts.

You want the raw files? Fine by me,
Your halo’s on expense sheet three.
You picked the blood, approved the beast,
Charged extra for the shaking knees.

You call it courage, I call it rates—
Your conscience woke when the cheque came late.
You’ve got my tapes, I’ve got your texts,
Let’s see whose podcast books us next.

I paid the clown to plant the leak,
You paid him double late last week.
Now he sells courses from his phone—
We taught that little fuck too much.

Then came a note from the private seats:
Keep the feud, extend the lease.
Double the scandal, stretch the run,
Nobody cares which liar won.

We’re trading threats beneath the lights,
They own the tent and sell the rights.
We thought we ran this whole damn show—
There’s another set of strings we didn’t know.

His crowd, her crowd, split down the aisle,
Owners watching with a quiet smile.
Every fist that swings at me
Misses the hands that count the fees.

[Bridge — rhythmic rock shouting, building]
His side, her side, pick your team,
Feed another fight into the stream.
Keep ’em mad and keep ’em split—
Nobody looks up from the pit.

She gets paid, he gets clicks,
Owners get another night of this.
We fight for scraps beneath the lights,
They own the tent and sell the rights.

News sound bites, ten seconds flat,
Cut out the hands that passed the hat.
Three-hour podcast, fresh debate—
Same damn circus, brand-new hate.

Divide and conquer, rinse, repeat,
Keep ’em swinging from their seats.
While we scream about who’s to blame,
The box seats never change their names.

Who holds the strings?
Who feeds the flame?
We change the cast—
They keep the game!

You stole my cut, I changed my lines,
Keep ’em fighting, hide the crime.
The fight’s the cover, we’re the act—
They own the stage, we signed the pact.

Burn the fucking tent tonight!
Feed the cover-up, kill the lights.
They bring the gas, we strike the match—
They bury truth, we split the cash.