Bomb The Music Industry!: Can I Pay My Rent in Fun?
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Bomb The Music Industry!: Can I Pay My Rent in Fun?
You took a little every day until I didnt have shit.
Two years off and on and not even the chance to quit,
just a letter on a fridge
that I got from human resources.
I know that six weeks was kind of a bit much
and that nothing is forever, and that nothing should be. Someday it all
stops and I cant sleep now because Im not a real fucking adult
but I guess now Ill have my life
from 7 to 6:45.
Marie! Marie! Marie! Im sorry
Ive been too busy
for the promise of an unfulfilling life.
The risks I took were mine to take.
We couldnt communicate
in anything
but rote responses and shit eating grins.
And everything starts dwindling
when its all built on
power trips and pandering
power trips and pandering.
The letter arrived yesterday.
I didnt have a drop to drink.
I had to play and drive four hours to Brooklyn
to my apartment of dirty shit and 1,000 lonely days ahead.
But I guess now Ill have my life
with red and black out of my eyes.
Marie! Marie! Marie! Im really stoked you set me free
from the promise of an unfulfilling life
where I can pay my bills and
pass out at eleven and not
wake up in the morning and start feeling bad.
Worst case of the Mondays that Ive ever had
though I treat every weekday like a Saturday night
except for drinks I cant afford.
A can of Shmidtys, nothing more.
I need some more security
than that provided by choosing between
a job you hate, a job you hate
and a job that doesnt pay.
I got too caught up with me
to behave responsibly.
Michael, Nathan and Christine, Ive got no rent, Marie! Marie!
I was arguing with cops while I had a fake moustache on,
poorly handling emotions, swimming naked in the ocean,
breaking bottles all over your floor and leaving without our passports,
drinking gin and Zicam until 2 AM while playing rock band,
inviting myself into homes of strangers to drink all alone,
leaving sweat-soaked boxers on a bar cause they said put a t-shirt on,
acting irresponsibly and trying to make a choice between
a job you hate and a job that doesnt pay.
Two years off and on and not even the chance to quit,
just a letter on a fridge
that I got from human resources.
I know that six weeks was kind of a bit much
and that nothing is forever, and that nothing should be. Someday it all
stops and I cant sleep now because Im not a real fucking adult
but I guess now Ill have my life
from 7 to 6:45.
Marie! Marie! Marie! Im sorry
Ive been too busy
for the promise of an unfulfilling life.
The risks I took were mine to take.
We couldnt communicate
in anything
but rote responses and shit eating grins.
And everything starts dwindling
when its all built on
power trips and pandering
power trips and pandering.
The letter arrived yesterday.
I didnt have a drop to drink.
I had to play and drive four hours to Brooklyn
to my apartment of dirty shit and 1,000 lonely days ahead.
But I guess now Ill have my life
with red and black out of my eyes.
Marie! Marie! Marie! Im really stoked you set me free
from the promise of an unfulfilling life
where I can pay my bills and
pass out at eleven and not
wake up in the morning and start feeling bad.
Worst case of the Mondays that Ive ever had
though I treat every weekday like a Saturday night
except for drinks I cant afford.
A can of Shmidtys, nothing more.
I need some more security
than that provided by choosing between
a job you hate, a job you hate
and a job that doesnt pay.
I got too caught up with me
to behave responsibly.
Michael, Nathan and Christine, Ive got no rent, Marie! Marie!
I was arguing with cops while I had a fake moustache on,
poorly handling emotions, swimming naked in the ocean,
breaking bottles all over your floor and leaving without our passports,
drinking gin and Zicam until 2 AM while playing rock band,
inviting myself into homes of strangers to drink all alone,
leaving sweat-soaked boxers on a bar cause they said put a t-shirt on,
acting irresponsibly and trying to make a choice between
a job you hate and a job that doesnt pay.
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