Expo '87 - Fred Thomas

I get so hung up high on expectations

I get so sick at restaurants and on family vacations

And I leave every situation invariably feeling dumb

But you’ve got to be a little bit dumb

Otherwise you never get anything done

And you’ve gotta be kinda hit

Otherwise you spend your time smiling entirely too much

Wincing while you’re waiting

For that next soft punch

So give up, fuck up, stay out

Cause no one’s keeping score now

This punishment, it doesn’t fit

But fuck it, we’ve got it

You still know what all the drop-outs know

And anybody who’s ever lost a tooth

It doesn’t bring you any closer to the truth

But you do start to recognize things

So can you keep your firm belief in those ill-fitting jeans

A burning hatred of the home team and everything that it means

Will you go with the mongrels?

The deciders?

The jelly legs and anxious elbows of the awkward lovers?

The unsightly?

The sickly?

The migraines?

Let’s puke up the foam from this bottle of champagne

Let’s ruin this fucking wedding!

All these nights are only worth forgetting

This conversation;

we’re so above it

Let’s bury it

Let’s dead that shit!