Stuck down here, in the garage
Playing our hearts out for no one at all
Just the three of us, and these four chords
One six pack but I think we need more
At each other's throats, but in the nicest way
stinking of smoke, and 20something angst
and hope we'll be remembered for something more
Than a Black Flag cover that we did once before
And maybe one day we'll pass off
This thing we try to call hard work
Playing music no one wants to hear
and trying not to come across as jerks