Fine Foods Market Lyrics

The Lottery line at Fine Foods is three blocks long
and Hussein"s selling PBR to Hispsters with ironic mustaches
who most definitely once were punk, but now wear flannel
and scream over bar chords on acoustic guitars
the parks full of scum f*cks oggles and train kid
busking and flying signs for sparks and beast ice
but not food for their dog, not laundrys to clean their clothes
they don't even shower but that's how it go's

and I don't care much either way, cause when their my age they'll all own SAABS
vacation homes with pending divorce, memberships at the golf course
but I do not, no I do not

You see i was born in a traffic jam, a cul-de-sac all american with taperd jeans and leather jackets and nike hightops
a hair farmer from the suburbs, a drunk speed metal drummer
now how the hell did i end up a realtree camo and carharts
it's safe to say that I lost grip, oh look there goesanother Hipster kid
in neon on a track bike paying a school to learn art
a buy green vegetarian, a fashion Icon charlatan, at the bar buying rounds
on hi mothers credit card

and i don't care much either way.cause when their my age they'll all own SAABS
vacation homes with pending divorce, memberships at the golf course
but i do not hell no, no i do not

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