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She was on that dive bar dance floor; shakin to that eighties mix |
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She's trying to stay afloat in a fleet of relationships |
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So when they play The Smiths |
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She plays the mannequin or gets another drink |
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Until she's drunk enough to dance again |
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I'm standing in the corner while they're handling my order |
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When I caught her trying to frolic in my field of vision |
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She isn't my type, but that's alright |
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I'd like to keep it all platonic cause I've got the premonition that |
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She's never kissed a boy without a drink on his breath |
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And she's never loved a man who didn't remind her of daddy |
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She'll dance with dollar bottles singing "Living On A Prayer" |
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If the bar can keep it's promise that an hour makes her happy |
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She doesn't wear the locket that she got when she was six |
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She wears the skirt a little lower on the weekdays |
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She likes men that don't exist the morning after |
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Cause a secret is a secret but a lover is a cheap date |
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He was in the dive bar drinking on a champagne budget |
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Cause he ain't nobody's husband when the buzz is in effect |
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He tips the bartender single increments because |
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She gives a little wink and then she shoves em in her dress |
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You know the type |
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Over forty, from Boston |
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Only kicking game at women young enough to be his offspring |
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She's trying to talk him into buying her a lager |
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And pretend he don't remind her of her father |
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He graduated with honors and got a job he hates |
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Cause what the dreamers call a home he calls a trash heap |
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He'll have another half a dozen gin and tonics |
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If the bar can keep it's promise that an hour makes him happy |
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He's been with women that never noticed his wedding ring |
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He keeps a picture of his children in his briefcase |
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They keep his wrists from the kisses of a razor |
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And it's hard to find a savior in the city these days |
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I was in the dive bar bathroom listening to last call |
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I'm looking at a broken mirror like a glass ball |
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Double vision was effecting the judgment |
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But I wouldn't recognize that reflection if it wasn't |
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Dude is buggin. Don't he know it's dangerous |
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Assuming he knows a human he ain't even acquainted with? |
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And maybe it's all peace as long as it ain't him |
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But fed his own medicine, what would he say then? |
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I bet he's never won a fist fight in his life |
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And he's only charismatic when he's speaking on a back beat |
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He'll catch a buzz and fall in love with a stranger |
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If the bar can keep it's promise that an hour makes him happy |
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Stereotypically skinny disheveled white boy |
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Music elitist, guaranteed to hate the deejay |
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He's trying to stress that he's so damn different |
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I bet he didn't even notice he's the cliches he hates |
