Santino Fontana - What'll It Be | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Santino Fontana
• What'll It Be

Lyrics:

It’s 5:53 on Thanksgiving,
Not one customer’s walked through the door,
But I’m still here, slinging drinks for a living,
I’ve never played piano before!
Not bad.
I know this town like the back of my hand,
But I’m not such a fan of the back of my hand,
‘Cause if you look real close at those little hairs in veins,
You’re like hands are sorta gross, it’s hard to explain.

The point is,
Hey, West Covina,
Why won’t you let me break free?
Am I doomed to stay here,
Pouring my high school friends beers,
For the rest of eternity?

Hey, West Covina,
You know just where to find me,
I’ll never go far,
So pull up to the bar.
Hey, West Covina,
What’ll it be?

It’s 5:55, I’m still singing.
The big turkey day game’s letting out,
But no one’s coming here,
Who am I kidding?
Hey, you sunburned MILFs,
Give me a shout!
Everyone’s going home
‘Cause it’s time to give thanks,
Thanks for the chain stores and outlets and banks,
Thanks for this town, three short hours from the beach,
Where all of your dreams can stay just out of reach.

Hey, West Covina,
You’re not listening, so what’s the use?
Is my purpose in life to slice limes with a knife,
Or to serve Deb a vodka and cranberry juice?
Hey Deb, I’ll be right with ya.

Hey, West Covina,
Look what you’re doing to me.
Can’t you see, West Covina,
You’re killing me, West Covina.
Last call, West Covina,
What’ll it be?


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