Lola Young - Messy

Lola Young’s “Messy” comes at you like a late‑night text you shouldn’t read but you do anyway—one minute she’s spilling frustration, the next she’s begging for grace, smoking like a chimney, pulling a Britney, texting back too late, hating how she “should die lucky at thirty‑three,” and you feel both ashamed and relieved she said it first. It’s soul‑pop meets 90s edge meets ADHD chaos—embracing being too messy, too clean, too perfect till she opens her mouth and a thousand versions of herself and none are enough. She’s calling out someone who told her to “get a job,” then moaned where she’d been, crying only on schedule, drinking wine at strange hours, and still feeling absurd for just being real. Every contradiction in the chorus hits like a kitchen drawer that won’t close—imperfectly authentic. TikTok exploded, Sofia Richie danced, charts fell—UK, Australia, Ireland, Germany, number 14 in the US—and it’s not that the song was made for virality, it just is viral, because imperfect truth resonates. And Lola—BRIT School grad, niece of Julia Donaldson?—spoke for every scattered, raw, unfiltered feeling you’ve ever had but couldn’t say. Now nominated for Ivor Novello, topping charts, dominating streaming—because being messy is how she won. 🌪️

Lola Young Messy Lyrics

You know I'm impatient
So why would you leave me waitin' outside the station
When it was like minus four degrees?
And I, I get what you're sayin'
I just really don't wanna hear it right now
Can you shut up for like once in your life?

Listen to me, I took your nice words of advice about
How you think I'm gonna die lucky if I turn 33
Okay, so yeah, I smoke like a chimney
I'm not skinny, and I pull a Britney every other week
But cut me some slack, who do you want me to be?

'Cause I'm too messy, and then I'm too fucking clean
You told me, "Get a job, " then you ask where the hell I've been
And I'm too perfect, 'til I open my big mouth
I want to be me, is that not allowed?
And I'm too clever, and then I'm too fucking dumb
You hate it when I cry, unless it's that time of the month
And I'm too perfect, 'til I show you that I'm not
A thousand people I could be for you, and you hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot
You hate the fucking lot
You hate, you hate

It's taking you ages
You still don't get the hint, I'm not askin' for pages
But one text or two would be nice
And please, don't pull those faces
When I've been out working my arse off all day
It's just one bottle of wine or two

But, hey, you can't even talk
You smoke weed just to help you sleep
Then why you out gettin' stoned at four o'clock?
And then you come home to me
And don't say hello, 'cause I got high again
And forgot to fold my clothes

'Cause I'm too messy, and then I'm too fucking clean
You told me, "Get a job, " then you ask where the hell I've been
And I'm too perfect 'til I open my big mouth
I want to be me, is that not allowed?
And I'm too clever, and then I'm too fucking dumb
You hate it when I cry, unless it's that time of the month
And I'm too perfect 'til I show you that I'm not
A thousand people I could be for you, and you hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot
You hate the fucking lot

Oh-ooh, and I'm too messy, and then I'm too fucking clean
You told me, "Get a job, " then you ask where the hell I've been
And I'm too perfect, 'til I open my big mouth
I want to be me, is that not allowed?
And I'm too clever, and then I'm too fucking dumb
You hate it when I cry, unless it's that time of the month
And I'm too perfect, 'til I show you that I'm not
A thousand people I could be for you, and you hate the fucking lot

You hate the fucking lot
You hate the fucking lot
You hate the fucking lot
You hate the fucking lot