D.I.Y.
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In the corner there's a girl with purple hair making eyes
I'm pretty sure she hates me
I'm not cool enough to be here
I struggle through a couple folk songs as the crowd trickles down the stairs
As the folks gather round' I'm met with mean mugs, stink eyes and hateful stares
I'm D.I.Y
I'm punk as fuck
Don't need your money
I don't want your love
My voice gets drowned out as the crowd talks over me
My girlfriend's making out with a face-tattoo on the washing machine
The tip jar is full of pocket lint and 37 cents
And one half-smoked cigarette
I guess I'll just go f myself
I'm D.I.Y
I'm punk as fuck
Don't need your money
I don't want your love
Some ass hole crashes into me
Now I smell like skunky PBR
My soul is crushed
I've had enough
I'd rather be at my delivery job