1. |
Leftovers
01:32
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"I've heard this before."
Yes.
You've heard this before.
So if you haven't judged me yet, well you best be getting started.
Is this the end of everything we love?
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2. |
'Peanut' M+M's
03:46
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Woke up on Monday to the sound of your car
The notes on the dresser prove that this all has gone too far
Kicking and screaming and gasping for air
Sunset's approaching, but I can't seem to avert my stare
But it feels like none of this makes any sense
It feels like this song doesn't make any sense
Do you hear it?
The sounds of mediocrity
Resonating
So loud
It's mediocrity
And I've had just about enough
Just accept it, you're no better than mediocrity
Woke up on Tuesday to the weather report
Every three minutes there's a typical forecast of scattered storms
Recycle the garbage for as long as you can
No one will notice when you actually reuse that trash again
But it feels like none of this makes any sense
Now I know that none of this makes any sense
CHORUS
"I've had just about enough"
Sometimes, you just have to get up and go
You can't just sit back while they destroy what you love
And the oversaturation makes my STOMACH FUCKING SICK
But it's never going to change if you throw up and decide to quit
Things will stay the same if you give up and call it quits
You can't quit
Oh fuck.
I can't quit.
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3. |
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It's been a year of destruction and defeat
Did things turn out like you planned?
Because you've gone so far
Like you were on fire
But the words that you write have already been sung before
Make it loud, make it fast
Pray to God to make it last
Unacceptable, unthinkable, it's wrong
Because I know just what it's like
To believe in something and watch it die right before my eyes
To understand and to learn to live
You first must lose it all
YOU'RE NOT ORIGINAL
Who can be?
When all melodies and chords have been taken
It's all ready taken
CHORUS
You are nothing
You are no one at all
The songs you write are not special.
CHORUS
I'm sick of simulating what I know
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4. |
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it's a party on friday night
got a keg full of busch light
too bad it tastes like pee pee
ke$ha has drunk party fever
she'll show you her justin beaver
when she's fuckin wasted
oh god i'm fucking wasted
how did i get so drunk?
gonna feel like shit, but it's worth it
down the bottle and forget whos talking
playin weezy on the radio
i feel like shit, but it's worth it
this party's a total sausage fest
where the fuck are all the perky breasts?
next time i'll just stay home
lindsay lohan, freaky friday
freckleboobs, firecrotch, drunk ass, granttheefjklja;;sdjkadljBULLSHIT
she's post rehab wasted!
CHORUS
motherfucking white boy wasted
fanny fuck fart frat house wasted
oh god i'm so fucking wasted.
holy hot pants white trash wasted
booger beer breath homeless wasted
oh god i'm so fucking myrtle beach DRUNK
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5. |
Kidman
03:00
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Hey
Plastic smile haze
I never had to ask
You called it out from the bottom of the crowd
And made it seem like what you wanted
This isn't what you wanted?
Your silence is loud and clear
Enough so I can't hear you
Keep your eyes on the road
While it twists and turns through the winding curves
I swerve
We swerve
This is gonna hurt
Speak up.
It's hard to hear your words in the fog
What went wrong?
I showed you who I was that too much?
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6. |
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You're just a stupid kid with a v-neck and a guitar
You're not a poetic genius
You will not go far
In fact you're going nowhere
And you think a bit highly of yourself
You don't realize
That these songs of separation never last
And the storms that they create are dangerous but they always pass
And your faces fade away
Fallen rain evaporates away
And your voices fade away
You will all evaporate away
Honestly, is this what you're all so proud to be?
Repeat the misery of a scene that has bled all that it can bleed
This is the end
CHORUS
Not anymore
Don't play along.
Honestly
Is THIS what you're all so fucking proud to be???
Repeat the misery of a scene that has bled all that it can bleed
This is the end
And I can't take it anymore
This self-fetishization
It's not an occupation I support
I will never play along.
Don't play along.
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