|
Two miles from the hotel, eight hundred from home |
|
We're forced to call on all we know |
|
But all we know's a joke |
|
The van just started shaking, coughing out black smoke |
|
We're pulling off in a parking lot cause this might just explode |
|
Cause it's New Year's Eve and four degrees |
|
We're stranded, hopeless |
|
I just want some sleep |
|
Drew's too busy sexting with some girl he met last show |
|
Tripping balls from the soft effects of the Nyquil overdose |
|
Nobody's been asking how we're gonna get home |
|
Cause we all know |
|
We'll deal with it tomorrow |
|
Yeah, we know |
|
It's gonna be our year, boys |
|
I'd speak up |
|
But I'm waiting for the irony to fall asleep without me |
|
And we'll wait and see |
|
With some luck and patching up |
|
I think I'll be home this week |
|
We'll deal with it our own way |
|
And we'll stay, and we'll wait, and we'll wake |
|
And this awkward mess we've make |
|
A landscape forged from pizza crust |
|
And what's left of the case |
|
We'll make friends in every state |
|
Like the cops in parking lot or staff of Steak'N'Shake |
|
It's gonna be our year, boys |
|
I'd speak up |
|
But I'm waiting for the irony to fall asleep without me |
|
And we'll wait and see |
|
With some luck and patching up |
|
I think I'll be home this week |
|
But I'm too tired to speak |
|
I'll say, hey man, I'll see you in Cleveland |
|
Someone go tell the universe we're not concerned |
|
We know it's out to get us |
|
We'll never learn |
|
So if you're thinking you just got the best of me |
|
Man, we don't go down that easy |
|
It's gonna be our year, boys |
|
I'd speak up |
|
But I'm waiting for the irony to fall asleep without me |
|
And we'll wait and see |
|
With some luck and patching up |
|
I think I'll be home this week |
