Where's the wine and cheese at the show?
Shouldn't you be driving home in a BMW?
I've seen less snobs at the
Gallo Center for the Arts
♪
Judging people for who they know and what they wear
You inherited your parent's band account and their arrogance
Arrogance
Don't ever admit defeat
Burn down the coffee shop, the Modesto indie elite
♪
It's funny to remember you talk about community
'Cause you ran away from us off to some big city
Where there's so many more people to exclude
You can grow yer brand like elitists do
But I know, you know, we're gonna be alright
The only ironic thing here is our indie lives
See, we're thirteen years deep struggling DIY
And if it's taught us one thing it's how to survive
People like you
Would it fucking kill you
To have some human contact at this rock show?
Did I just say rock show? Apparently indie means
Means
Generic, major label
Coffee house singer-songwriters
♪
If you look pretentious up in the Websters dictionary
You'll find an aging hipster and his flannel posse
Skinny, old dismissive prick
And his bearded, protege, flannel fucking troll
♪
It feels like Jesus on the cross
It's so religious in it's loss
A graven image in the mud
Like when I shed my precious blood
I am a loser, I am Satan, I am Jesus Christ, I'm me
There are no winners in this fucked reality
I am a loser, I am Satan, I am Jesus Christ, I'm me
There are no winners in the Modesto indie scene