Libs - Berch

Back in trenches
Think Woodstock
Good cop bad cop
Quit asking us questions
Back then in woodshop
Waxing up benches
Did a good job
Lacking direction
See the forest for the trees
Enormous as it seems
Assortment of the spring
Gorgeous as the leaves get
Orangish yellow green
Torn out by the breeze
And smashed into the cement
In the deep muddy marsh
By the creek flooding marks
Doing leaf rubbing art
That's the least funny part
Weed money's sparse
So we drink Cutty Sark
And we sing Buddy Clark
Bleed bloody heart
Give me a free running start
And I'll keep running
Keep running far
Like police coming
Green thumb at large
All the rings recovered
From the tree cutting scars
But we'll never be younger
Than we already are
Going going gone
Like three hundred yards
Still going strong
But three putting pars
Mowin my lawn
While I drink yummy carbs
Loading the bong
While I eat lucky charms
The pros and the cons of
Beach bumming hard
Did a brief study
On some cheap ugly cars
To beat out the best
Got to cheat lucky stars
The greenhouse effect
Got to keep puffing hard
Breathe in
Breathe out
Ya breathe

Written by:
Eric Libby

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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