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Introduction
“Fuck It Up” opens in freefall. Every instrument feels caffeinated, but the real jolt comes from how casually the narrator admits disaster is their default setting. The chorus’s blunt mantra becomes both a warning label and a twisted comfort blanket.
Verse 1
“Be happy, don’t worry / That’s a lie and I know it is”
The song immediately slaps down empty optimism. Master Peace clocks the gap between Instagram-ready positivity and the mess piling up on real plates. By adding, “I’m making mistakes,” the narrator folds themself into the universal stress pile, introducing self-accountability as well as exhaustion.
“So much time, and I wanna know / That I could see, that everything is left for me”
Time hangs like both luxury and threat. The speaker imagines possibility but fears squandering it, setting up the tension that will yank every later hook.
Pre-Chorus
“I gotta wake up / ’Cause I fuck it up all the time”
This is a 3 a.m. alarm clock: clarity arrives, yet action still lags. Repeating the line feels like slapping a snooze button made of guilt. The theme: self-awareness doesn’t automatically equal self-correction.
Chorus
“Fuck it up all the time”
What could read as defeatism instead lands like communal catharsis. The constant repetition weaponizes shame into shout-along release, letting listeners exhale their own missteps. “Time” floats after the phrase, implying every second is a fresh chance to derail—or to reset.
Verse 2
“ADHD got a hold on me / I’ve qualified with no degree”
Declan McKenna swings in, doubling the perspective. Neurodivergence and institutional fallout join the narrative, illustrating how structural friction amplifies personal chaos.
“Kicked out of school for bein’ a little shit / And I know I’m gonna make a fuck of it”
Humor masks bruises. The speaker jokes about their expulsion even as they predict future failure, spotlighting a learned reflex: clown on yourself before anyone else can.
Bridge
“We could fuck it up together”
The track flips isolation into camaraderie. By inviting another person into the spiral, the narrator discovers a strange solidarity—if we’re all breaking things, maybe none of us are broken alone. The line hints at romance, friendship and co-dependency in one breath.
Outro
“I just need an escape, I just live in a dream”
The repetitions blur until meaning smears like wet paint. Dreams, lateness, meanness—they’re all excuses and confessions. Even while insisting “I wanna behave,” the narrator circles back to the mantra, suggesting growth is more loop than straight line.
Conclusion
“Fuck It Up” isn’t a tidy redemption arc; it’s a snapshot of people who keep tripping over the same cracks yet refuse to stop running. By coating self-doubt in hooks you can yell from a mosh pit, Master Peace turns failure into fellowship and chaos into something you can dance to while you figure the rest out.
