Two speakers trade verses about being nice guys while struggling with addiction and isolation. One bleeds for love and admits drug use could kill him; the other surrounds himself with cash and Miller Lite but ignores missed calls from friends. The song swings between yearning for connection and the bleak reality of self-destruction.
Chapters
Why don't you make some time and space for me? Call it crazy, call it make-believe. Call me baby, I would bleed for you. Must be true. Don't send me a selfie, I want that added tonight. I'm coming out, I swear I'm falling in love, so bear me out. I said it again and again, and I'll say it up front, I'm a nice guy. Take my hand, so I'mma take your bitch.
Get that I'm a bag talking cash until you wish you can die. Oh baby, I'm a dolly. I'm a nice guy, swear I'm a nice guy. I'm sitting up drunk with a nightlight, think I'm running out of Miller Lite. High life with a green tint to the limelight. Nicotine bars while you're running through my mind like, none of these drugs kill your withdrawals. Checking my phone for new missed calls. All of my friends like, where did you go? Don't wanna talk to them at all.
I'm a nice guy. Wish I never did drugs, but I can't lie. If I take one more, then I might die.