Press the tape recorder

Let's get this all down real fast
Before this insignificant thought goes by
There's one more slow song left
To write for the record
To make all the metal heads cry
Or throw rocks for not rocking
Stand there just mocking
With hands in their armpits that later they'll smell
When you live in the past
There's on thing that will last
Is resentment that time won't sit still

The record business is fucked
But it's kinda funny
It'll separate a boy from a man
You can buy every copy of your record with your money
but you'd be your only fan
if there's one thing my father said
when he was younger
to a kid with a mullet that looked like his son
to want and to try is the difference why
some people walk and some run

sharpen up all the pencils
cuz class will come early
there's so much you thought that you knew
and all the B-list in Magazines
that pay for their pictures
will soak up what's left of the pool
while a kid in the corner becomes a savant
no one will care til he's dead
or falls from his grace, guilt all over the place
and a piece of it stuck in his head

L ♥