Broken Air Conditioning

Can't listen to Ruston
Can't listen to Maren
It's gettin' depressin' riding round in this car. I try to tell you a story
Baby you just ignore me
Unless I'm pattin' your back,
Callin' all the rest hacks
And you're the brightest star
I'm a little tired of the measuring stick
If I wasn't in love,
I'd call you kind of a dick.
There's a mental list of those who did you wrong. But I can't keep track cause it's so damn long.
I can't wait to fly myself back to LA
I'll singing out to Dying Star' night and day. You say I'm not as cool as I used to be.
Well maybe it's your broken air conditioning.
You say it's survival
That's got you actin' like a child. You say it's your ex-wife
Who stole away your best life.
Ya say your dad has got no taste, And your sister is basic,
But you scoop up their handouts While making fun of their Asics.
And you're always the victim Of some much bigger system, And this car's getting hotter As your singing gets louder.
Could we take a break and turn on the radio? I've heard this song twenty-five times in a row.
And Baby, it's a demo from a decade ago.
This Honda seems to suck the joy right out of me. Or maybe its your broken air-conditioning.
***
I'm a little tired of the measuring stick
If I wasn't in love
I'd call you kind of a dick
I'm a little tired of the broken shower, of the IRS Of the lack of sex.
I'm so tired I can't get out of bed.
But you're sure it's my fault, it's all in my head.
I can't wait to fly myself back to LA
I'll be singing Bummin' Cigarettes' the whole way I guess I'm not as cool as I used to be.
Or maybe it's your broken air-conditioning.