Wilbur Soot - Dropshipped Cat Shirt
Skinny jeans on the bench pressYou burn the candle at both ends
If anyone asks why, then they're not worth your time
Why am I so out of breath?
Club sandwich pressed in north end
Grittled shank on rye
A gunshot at half time
Adoration of the mystic land
The idea of me, who was that man?
A wooly picket line
Intestinal red wine
Now it's hard not to suspect
Your lying tell is bated breath
I inhale for suspense
You triggered my mammalian sighing reflex
So I take everything as a lesson
Something I trained out of myself
With mindless self-indulging confidence
Indulge me in whatever quick release I could muster
Social media, carbohydrates and cannabis, the world was my oyster
And I was the knight by which they duck
But now he's dead, he's gone
I fucking start anew
I'm a developmental beast, wrong version of myself
Sixteen bathrooms
Sixteen bedrooms
Sixteen fridges
64-bit computers
Fifteen of them
Oh, how nice it must be
To feel so bored
I just need to find someone to tell me
I'm just tired
Written by:
William Gold
Publisher:
Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
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