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I Don't Wanna


Artist: Crone Fires
Key Signature: F major
Time Signature: 4/4
Artist's Description
"I Don't Wanna" is an Alt-Pop track about saying no—clearly, unapologetically, and with style. It's a list of rejections that stack verse by verse, refusing everything from brunch invites to spiritual self-improvement to someone's painfully unsuitable son. The lyrics drive everything. The voice isn't angry—it's over it. Calm, dry, and a little deadly. Lines like "I'm not dating, meditating, relocating, or decorating. I'm busy. With snacks." and "I won't pray with your iguana / Even if it makes me 'spiritually better'" do the work without explanation.

The production adds texture that supports the vocal without fighting it. The arrangement stays lean, giving the delivery room to hit each refusal with precision and timing. By the final chorus, the refusals get sharper. "He claps when planes arrive. Never." and "I'll fake my death." The song doesn't explain itself, doesn't soften, doesn't apologize."I Don't Wanna" is direct, self-contained, and completely sure of itself.


Genre(s): Pop, General Pop
Mood(s): Calm, Cool, Fun, Lively
Style(s): Alternative, Comedy
Tempo: 111-130 BPM
Language(s): English
Instrument(s): Drum Kit,Guitar-Electric,Piano-Electric,Synthesizers,Chinese Instruments
Vocal Type(s): Female Vocals
File Type: MP3

* Audio may contain AI generated content
I Don't WannaCover Version:$22.75
Standard License:$600.00
Extended License:$900.00
BUY COPYRIGHT:$6,500.00
I Don’t Wanna

(Verse 1)
I won’t do brunch, I won’t meet Donna,
I won’t invest in your big endeavor.
Stop sending links about your sauna—
My vibe is cold, detached, and clever.

(Chorus)
I’m not going to, I don’t wanna,
You can’t make me—not now, not ever.
I don’t wanna date your son—I’m not chopped liver.
I’m not going to, I don’t wanna.
You can’t make me—not now, not ever.
I don’t wanna date your son—I’m not chopped liver.

(Verse 2)
No, I won’t pray with your iguana,
Even if it makes me “spiritually better.”
This is my life—not your drama.
I’ll RSVP to nothing. Never.

(Bridge)
You dream of me in some floral jumpsuit,
Tamed and grateful—on time and clever.
But babe, I ghosted my therapist and my Uber driver.
I’m chaos in eyeliner, I’m wild forever.

(Chorus)
I’m not going to, I don’t wanna,
You can’t make me—not now, not ever.
I don’t wanna date your son—I’m not chopped liver.
I’m not going to, I don’t wanna.
You can’t make me—not now, not ever.
I don’t wanna date your son—I’m not chopped liver.
And if you ask me twice…
I’ll block your number.
I’m not dating, meditating, relocating, or decorating.
I’m busy. With snacks.

(Verse 3)
I won’t paint mugs at your craft cabana,
Won’t hike at dawn to “feel more centered.”
You journal in cursive? I write in trauma—
A free-range mess, uncensored, splintered.
(Verse 4)
I won’t join your cult or wear your bandana,
No juice cleanse, chant, or full moon letter.
You manifest vibes? I manifest drama.
I’m allergic to group texts—and sweaters.

(Final Chorus
I’m not going to, I don’t wanna,
Can’t bribe me with brunch or crystal feathers.
I don’t wanna date your son—he claps when planes land. Never.
I’m not going to, I don’t wanna,
You can’t trick me with a cute endeavor.
I don’t wanna meet your mom—I’m not your helper.
And if you guilt me twice…
I’ll fake my death.
I’m not dating, meditating, relocating, or monogramming towels.
I’m busy. With snacks. And spite.
Spite.

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