Kurt Cobain died before this girl I work with was born And much in the same way the lonely seasons turn Spring to summer, summer to fall I strain to hear the siren call Everyone’s getting older And someday we’re all going to die I can’t drink the way I used to anymore And that party for your boss sounds like a total bore It’s so far away, we’d have to take a cab Plus that new crime drama doesn’t sound so bad Everyone’s getting older And someday we’re all going to die The last time I saw my cousin she was three feet tall She’ll be starting graduate school this fall Told a Bill Clinton joke to my best friend’s kid He said he doesn’t know who that is Everyone’s getting older And someday we’re all going to die

I was on my way to work It was on the #2 I was sitting by myself Until your voices said that you Should talk to me Should talk to me Should talk to me Don’t talk to me I was walking down the street I had stopped to tie my shoe You said that I should smile more Like I’d be so pleased that you Talked to me Talked to me Talked to me Don’t talk to me Please don’t try to talk to me I don’t want to know your name Or what happened to your sister’s baby Please don’t try to talk to me I don’t really give a fuck About your shitty luck I was sitting at the bar I was reading some Descartes You saw me from afar And thought it might be smart To talk to me To talk to me To talk to me Don’t talk to me Please don’t try to talk to me I don’t want to know your name Or how the city screwed you over Please don’t try to talk to me I don’t really give a fuck That you’re locked out of your truck You smell like pee Don’t talk to me You’ve only got three teeth Don’t talk to me Is that an Amazon ID Don’t talk to me You just got out today Don’t talk to me Is that a Wharton MBA Don’t talk to me Sorry, I’m gay Don’t talk to me Please don’t try to talk to me I don’t want to know your name Or what happened to your dead ex-boyfriend Please don’t try to talk to me We’re done.

Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Reset password? Reset password?! What the hell is my old password? Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done The software you’re using is out of date Please download the newer version and restart your computer Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done I can meet on Thursday at 3:30 I can't I can meet on Tuesday at noon I can't I can meet on Sunday at 10pm Yeah, I got a thing that I gotta, uh . . . Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done I swear I had some paperclips I swear I had some paperclips I swear I had some motherfucking paperclips Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done The deadline's at 5 PM on Friday Turns out that’s East Coast time So I’ll drop in at my sister’s wedding Skip the reception, she won’t mind The numbers don’t add up I’m sure it’s fine Nobody’s gonna read this anyway Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Gotta get it done Microsoft Word has encountered a fatal error But I gotta get it done You’re not connected to a wireless network Oh, fuck you The development team can’t figure out how to arrange the cheese I’ll never procrastinate again I swear, just please Gotta get it done

I’ve got a lot problems, you know That require more than I’ve got to give They’re too much I can’t catch a break and I’m always broke I can’t get a date and my car’s a joke And such But in these dark times I know where to look When everything’s shit and I’m on the hook Some people find answers in the Good Book But not me I’ve got a crutch As long as there’s bourbon I’ll make it It’s my crutch If I can get high I can fake it It’s my crutch So long as there’s good-looking assholes to break My heart I won’t get caught in the clutch It’s my crutch Last week I found out my job is ending And the date I’ve got planned will get offended If we go Dutch Where’s my crutch Some might say I’m avoiding the problem But I don’t care, it’s my life, who asked ‘em And if I’m not hurting anyone then who gives a fuck It’s my crutch It’s my crutch It’s my crutch

music and lyrics by josh anderson (supplemental lyrics by christina collins) recorded by scott ross at elliott bay recording company

Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times ooh girl Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times It’s okay If you don’t wanna go to work It don’t pay And your boss is a jerk Why get up In the morning at all, when you could Lay there and stare at the wall Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times ooh girl Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times It ain’t worth it baby Tryna make it okay When it’s so hard Just to try to get through the day We can Sit on the couch and watch some TV Or we can Cry a little, that’s all right with me We can Make a list of the things we thought we’d be by now Or we can Cry a little that’s all right with me Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times ooh girl Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times We can Sit on the couch and watch some TV Or we can Cry a little, that’s all right with me We can Make a list of the things we thought we’d be by now Or we can Cry a little that’s all right with me Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times ooh girl Sad times, gonna have real sad times Sad times, gonna have real sad times

I hope everything goes great With the rest of your stupid asshole life and Oh I just can’t wait Until you slip and fall on a kitchen knife but Maybe I’m too mean Because some poor soul would have to clean that up so I guess we should agree You’re dead to me and that’ll have to be Good enough It’ll be so sweet To see your face again in Hell Until then, my love I’ll have to make do with a few other ways of Wishing you well Remember when we met It was way back when you used to be cool And now I’m filled with regret Because I should’ve seen the way you turned me on just meant You were a giant tool But in my own defense I’m dumb When it comes right down to making choices mostly based on cum Oh once upon a time you were mine like a claymore I got what I paid for Fine Don’t care if you mind that I blame you for what I turned into But I’ve been cut to the bone, I should have known So we’ll call it Stockholm Syndrome Oh it’ll be so sweet To see your face in Hell Until then my love Stay out of my side of town

Sometimes being who you are Doesn’t matter to anyone but you So get your tools down off the shelf Make a statement about yourself If you use body fluids then they’ll have to Notice you I spend each day writing names of ex-lovers in spit on index cards Wrapping them in barbed wire Then setting them all on fire It’s not incomprehensible, it’s Avant-garde I make art Because I’ve got a lot of pain Inside I’m made of anguish Ennui and despair I make art To quiet down my brain Throw a bone to all my demons By making puppets out of hair Sometimes the only way to pierce The world’s thick veil of sadness Is draw a picture of a dog Call it “The Futility of God” Your work is more significant if you irritate The Catholics Nobody understands the need I’ve got inside of me to bleed Onto a canvas, into a wine glass It’s so potent and so serious Ritual cigarette burns, It’s a statement on commercialism Don’t you get it Just forget it It’s obviously not your thing I make art Because I’ve got a lot to say That’s why I need these rotten limes And six pints of turpentine I make art Because I don’t know a better way To sleep until it’s dark outside And not show up to work on time Everything’s so overwhelming Just being alive is such a stressor A tube of titanium white Will make everything all right As long as you remember that beauty is a tool of the oppressor Nobody understands the need I’ve got inside of me to bleed Onto a canvas, into a wine glass It’s so potent and so serious Ritual cigarette burns, It’s a statement on commercialism Don’t you get it Just forget it It’s obviously not your thing I make art Because it’s easier this way Expressing my emotions Through collages of my dad I make art Because everything will be okay As long as the gelatin sets Before the cow’s eyeball goes bad My muse is a vespertine I’m not sure why you question me I’m an artist I make art

Woke up with a rash and a lazy eye Pretty sure it’s cancer, pretty sure I’m gonna die Called up my friend from college He took a lot of science Said I should call a doctor As if that was an option Then we laughed and laughed until we were good and hoarse He said it might not get better but it probably won’t get worse Just get some aloe vera, Just cut yourself some bangs You can make your ailments A hot new fashion trend Who cares if it doesn’t get better As long as it doesn’t get worse Who cares if it’s lupus, gangrene, or gout Might as well be a gypsy curse You can take your copay And shove it up your ass Three years ago I took a first aid class Haven’t been able to breathe right since the spring of 2012 But it’s gonna be fine, I’ve got a friend who makes this salve I’ve got some local honey I’ve got some supplements I’d get antibiotics But I gotta pay the rent Woke up and then threw up in the middle of the night Probably some bad Thai food, I’m sure I’ll be all right Got a real bad headache My nose bleeds when I sneeze But I gotta go to work So I’ll call it allergies Who cares if it doesn’t get better As long as it doesn’t get worse Who cares if my life’s getting shorter As long as I get a hot hospice nurse I’m underinsured And I am too Who fuckin’ cares We’re gonna drink and screw Who cares if it doesn’t get better As long as it doesn’t get worse As long/ as/ it doesn’t get worse