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You're more hardcore, punk, straightedge or indie than me.
You have far more "cool to be uncool" friends than me.
Your hair is cooler and your pants are tighter
and your MySpace pictures own my face.
Skinnier and better looking and you have more tattoos
and obviously I loose. The buttons on your bag are cooler.
You are nothing but a scenester.
And at anytime your favorite band is more obscure than mine.
Your shoes are more vintage and so is your lame-ass shirt.
More black clothes than me, more trucker caps than me.
I don't even own a black leather jacket
and I don't care about a fucking spiky belt.
Your glasses are thicker than mine,
your piercings are more weirdo than mine.
The plugs in your ears are bigger than mine.
You are nothing but a scenester.
And at anytime your favorite band is more obscure than mine.
Because as we all know, that's what really matters
in a scene where the music has taken a backseat to the haircuts.
Because as we all know, that's what really matters.
You win and I loose, congratulations, congratulations wanker.
Kid, kid listen up, if you ask me it's crazy, it's stupid, it's dumb
that I shared a stage with you and that you flipped your style,
you folded you art to what's now playing in bar's stereos,
to what's now playing in your girl's stereo.
When you're drinking at a local festival
I ain't interested in hearing about your old days.
And at anytime your favorite band is more obscure than mine.
Because as we all know, that's what really matters
in a scene where the music has taken a backseat to the haircuts.
Because as we all know, that's what really matters.
You win and I loose, congratulations, congratulations wanker. |
... and the lipsticks traces