Now We Are All Sons of Bitches
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
I really wanted to make this record sound good
So I hired a guy to mix it to fix it
8 months later I saw him playing on stage with Mike Mills
And he still didn't have anything for me
Didn't even introduce me to Kurt Bloch
What a crock
Seemed embarrassed to know me
He should be
I wonder every day if I made a mistake leaving my last job
That's a long time to do anything
I never let it define me
Which was fine by me
But now I feel stuck in the country
Off the map
Everyone is moving all over the world
Going to LA, LV, LDS, LSD
And look at me
Sleeping on the floor
Nothing more
I remind myself that I didn't have any time or money when I worked there either
Only difference is now I have time to fixate on my many mistakes
I've had the same pa for 20 years
My amp shorted it out when I was trying to fix it
I can't afford to buy another
Same drums
Same three guitars
I look up and see same stars
From the same car
Parked at the
Same
Lame
Bar
I started taking these pills to replace the other better pills
And I don't like how either made me me feel
Nothing is real
Too many coincidences
But when i'm in the think of it
I'm sick of it
I'm not as angry as I was
But maybe I should be
I wanna thank my maker
A shitty baker
My therapist told me that I was just standing up for myself
And I did the fucking right thing
That's how she put it too
The fucking right thing
Okay
Sounds good
what now?
I can't even imagine an audience for my shit
That homeless guy said we were ahead of our time then split
His cousin hanged himself and that our time has not come
Look at what we've done
It's out of time
Out of time and out of time
If i'd realized in my 20s that I was as messed up as I am
What would I have done differently?
Now I fill guilty just reading
Grieving not leaving
Believing
That we'd still have time
I imagine myself in ten years
And I can't see myself anywhere
Except sleeping in the streets
In the warehouse
Under sheets
No heat
And although I see it coming
I don't know how to stop it
Over the hill side
Just out of sight
If the reads like my manifesto
Presto
Get it off my chesto
If you're not so impressed
Just go
Make up the rest for yourself
If you made it this far
Hi
Hello
Fuck mental illness for holding me hostage
I can't count how many times I've seriously lost it
Fuck getting up at 5am just to get up to go to work again
Fuck not being able to sleep without drugs
Even then, most nights it's not enough
Fuck you guys that go to church
And think it's a free pass to behave even worse
Fuck your snide comments and crooked looks
Fuck ratings books
Fuck you for ruining the Hall Of Presidents
And me for not being in The Residents
Fuck hip hop where they only rap about pussy and cars they can't afford
There's gotta be something else to live for
No doubt
Fuck shitty pop songs
The ones by children of rich parents
And the ones all written by the same dude
Or your producer tryin' a fuck you
You're tripping over each other to be the next Lorde
What for?
A chore
Fuck genre rock just copying the same shit over and over
I can't tell you a part
Take one good idea and beat it the fuck to death
Fuck that indie shit you hear on XPN
With bands names read like a Stienbeck novel
Let's all go see Cannery Row
They sound just like you think, you know
All technique and no soul
Fuck you folk music pricks saying you support local artists
Fuck you for pretending I don' exist
I'm not good enough for your playlist
Won't even respond to my letters
Fuck the private clubs that I don't know the passwords to
Fuck the music industry for ignoring you
Web sites and zines and blogs and bars
Reverb nation, sonic bids, radio carbon dating
Polarize the motherfucking hull plating
Fuck me for never learning how to relate
Fuck my bands for missing too many dates
And for being influenced by bands that everybody hates
Real smart
Just great
I have too much on my plate
My amp is an orange crate
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
I really wanted to make this record sound good
So I hired a guy to mix it to fix it
8 months later I saw him playing on stage with Mike Mills
And he still didn't have anything for me
Didn't even introduce me to Kurt Bloch
What a crock
Seemed embarrassed to know me
He should be
I wonder every day if I made a mistake leaving my last job
That's a long time to do anything
I never let it define me
Which was fine by me
But now I feel stuck in the country
Off the map
Everyone is moving all over the world
Going to LA, LV, LDS, LSD
And look at me
Sleeping on the floor
Nothing more
I remind myself that I didn't have any time or money when I worked there either
Only difference is now I have time to fixate on my many mistakes
I've had the same pa for 20 years
My amp shorted it out when I was trying to fix it
I can't afford to buy another
Same drums
Same three guitars
I look up and see same stars
From the same car
Parked at the
Same
Lame
Bar
I started taking these pills to replace the other better pills
And I don't like how either made me me feel
Nothing is real
Too many coincidences
But when i'm in the think of it
I'm sick of it
I'm not as angry as I was
But maybe I should be
I wanna thank my maker
A shitty baker
My therapist told me that I was just standing up for myself
And I did the fucking right thing
That's how she put it too
The fucking right thing
Okay
Sounds good
what now?
I can't even imagine an audience for my shit
That homeless guy said we were ahead of our time then split
His cousin hanged himself and that our time has not come
Look at what we've done
It's out of time
Out of time and out of time
If i'd realized in my 20s that I was as messed up as I am
What would I have done differently?
Now I fill guilty just reading
Grieving not leaving
Believing
That we'd still have time
I imagine myself in ten years
And I can't see myself anywhere
Except sleeping in the streets
In the warehouse
Under sheets
No heat
And although I see it coming
I don't know how to stop it
Over the hill side
Just out of sight
If the reads like my manifesto
Presto
Get it off my chesto
If you're not so impressed
Just go
Make up the rest for yourself
If you made it this far
Hi
Hello
Fuck mental illness for holding me hostage
I can't count how many times I've seriously lost it
Fuck getting up at 5am just to get up to go to work again
Fuck not being able to sleep without drugs
Even then, most nights it's not enough
Fuck you guys that go to church
And think it's a free pass to behave even worse
Fuck your snide comments and crooked looks
Fuck ratings books
Fuck you for ruining the Hall Of Presidents
And me for not being in The Residents
Fuck hip hop where they only rap about pussy and cars they can't afford
There's gotta be something else to live for
No doubt
Fuck shitty pop songs
The ones by children of rich parents
And the ones all written by the same dude
Or your producer tryin' a fuck you
You're tripping over each other to be the next Lorde
What for?
A chore
Fuck genre rock just copying the same shit over and over
I can't tell you a part
Take one good idea and beat it the fuck to death
Fuck that indie shit you hear on XPN
With bands names read like a Stienbeck novel
Let's all go see Cannery Row
They sound just like you think, you know
All technique and no soul
Fuck you folk music pricks saying you support local artists
Fuck you for pretending I don' exist
I'm not good enough for your playlist
Won't even respond to my letters
Fuck the private clubs that I don't know the passwords to
Fuck the music industry for ignoring you
Web sites and zines and blogs and bars
Reverb nation, sonic bids, radio carbon dating
Polarize the motherfucking hull plating
Fuck me for never learning how to relate
Fuck my bands for missing too many dates
And for being influenced by bands that everybody hates
Real smart
Just great
I have too much on my plate
My amp is an orange crate
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches will pay
Maybe someday sons of bitches
Credits
Writer(s): Jared Morris
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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