The Bad Years
At what age do I have to stop smoking?
‘Cause I think there’s a cut off when it stops being cool and you just have lung cancer.
And I like wife beaters and keg stands and indie bands,
But I think there’s a cut off.
I hope it isn’t twenty-five.
And I would hope that
I’ll stop being poor someday,
‘Cause I really want a flat screen TV,
Like my friends all have flat screen TVs,
And I want one and an iPhone.
And an IRA.
What’s an IRA?
I don’t know.
Everybody’s getting married and I can’t do that.
My girlfriend wants to but I don’t want to because then you have babies and you don’t have one.
You have multiple babies in succession,
And babies puke.
They puke almost as much as the drunk girl my roommate brought home last night.
And I won’t clean up puke so I can’t have babies.
Or drunk girls.
So I’m standing on 10th Avenue.
I’m standing on 10th Avenue.
My toilet is dirty,
I’m wearing a wife beater,
I’m thinking of this other girl I met,
And I’m smoking a cigarette.
They say these are the best years of your life.
I don’t know about that.
Second grade was pretty good -
We went to Wildwood.
Middle school was cool -
I kissed girls they were sober.
I don’t think these are the best years of your life.
These are -
These are the bad years.
Getting drunk but not laid,
Working hard for no pay,
Feeling so bored you might as well be in a board room,
Eating lots of shit like Ramen with Beef Jerky,
Life’s an indie hit but without all the quirky,
Kissing lots of bullfrogs,
Dealing with your drain clogs,
Jogging in place ‘cause you don’t know where the race is.
Take a stance.
Take a chance.
Fuck it all and go to France.
Anybody can.
‘Cause this is do or die but you’re already high.
Maybe you’ll go next week.
Maybe your life has peaked.
But if you had another chance to start you’d fucking make a plan.
Oh oh these are these are oh oh the bad years the bad years.
Oh oh these are these are oh oh the bad years the bad years.
Excuse me I’m having my quarter-life crisis right now.
Finding love,
Falling fast,
Knowing it will never last,
Trying to resist the urge to Google search your ex,
Uninsured,
Uninformed,
Partying where you once dormed,
Bet you never thought that you could say you bounced a rent check.
Holidays with mom when she drops the bomb:
She’s marrying a blogger and she’s moving to France.
Meanwhile your life’s is slipping by -
You can’t believe you’re that guy who’s getting beer for minors,
Eating every meal at diners.
Meditate.
Lose some weight.
Contemplate the conscious state.
Maybe nothing matters but you’re feeling like your soul’s in tatters.
Oh oh these are these are oh oh the bad years the bad years.
Oh oh these are these are oh oh the bad years the bad years.
Excuse me I’m having my quarter-life crisis right now.
