Bottles falling in a dumpster And a stale smell rising Through a sickening summer haze To the rhythm of a boot-heeled hipster Cowgirl's clunky sashay of shame Mundane mayhem the last of the AM's Gasoline powered release Of the rest of the day To the afternoon's rising Relentlessly stifling heat Up around the corner a B-model Mazda's Sitting crooked between the lines Feeling lucky that 27's the hardest thing She'll have to survive Just don't mix your browns and your whites with your wine And don't sit on your cigarettes You'll feel like shit soon enough And deserves' got no say in a story's past It's what alive feels like Bored children caught between dog days when night turns them loose All that's different for girls is the bragging and who it's done to Everyone claims that the times are a changing as theirs pass them by And everyone's right Way down beneath all the talk and tequila And reasons excuses and doubts Breathing steam from his cup and stink from his fingers He's starting to figure it out The old mans world was more doing than thinking And the doing was more cut and dry Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys And come home just as filthy and fried Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys And come home just as filthy and fried