Tekstovi: Bomb The Music Industry!. Get Warmer. Unlimited Breadsticks, Soup And Salad Days.

I bought a couch and a grill and a table with chairs,
paid for gas, like, the whole way down here,
electric n' cable, a shelf n' end table,
almost a hundred bucks worth of veggie burgers and buns.
I bought a case of beer and the charcoal to light
and said "we should do this every single night,
don't worry about the cash because I've got the scratch
and I can't save my money because that's impolite."

I don't know why I always complain about something
when what I got to complain about's nothing.
No goddamn kid's had a luckier year
and I'm bitching about internet and beer.

And just like that I'm broke, not a buck to my name
and nothing to do with the rest of the day.
No parties last all night, just tv and websites
and reproduction Peanuts strips I've read a million times.
Can we please ride bikes and not just sit inside
all day letting fresh Georgia air go to waste?
It's really not funny how bad I am with money
so let's pedal as far as it takes to think about something else.

I don't know why I always complain about something
when what I got to complain about's nothing.
No goddamn kid's had a luckier year,
somebody break out the no more tears.

As we sit around being broke, I'm losing my penchant for jokes;
it's just wry half-truths from a privileged youth
with a constant nostalgia for bad times when they're through.

I don't know why I always complain about something
when what I got to complain about's nothing.
No goddamn kid's had a luckier year,
and no one wants to be around me now,
not then, not ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever again