You'd think 8 shots would be enough Point those feet towards the door You still got to to stare your words your stupid smile sweaty hands you know your cards got room for more
I've always hated hearing lies Yet still come dribbling from this mouth We're all to the brim of shit and piss exceptions to the rules Yet none of us would seem to mind
Better days will not be left behind Insecurities we demand to hide Better days will come and go with time Lets hope this twenty gets me over the line
At distant corners of the room A glance shot out distant eyes I bet she likes the guys with money, cars, clean shaven, brand new cloths But I'd stupid not to try
Hoisted anchor we set sail The back and forth of choppy seas As I draw near exchanged the first shot fired whisky tipped it back You'd think she'd go buy one for me