This band ends a song with someone screaming “We’re the greatest band in the world.” I might agree with them.
It’s fake Irish, like I used to think I was.
Even flow. Thoughts arrive like plaid-wearing guys.
Girlfriend in a quesadilla, I know. This is serious.
I can’t promise that I’ll like it. But I can promise to hate the bass player’s hat.
“Oh, that game’s for kids.” “You must hate kids.”
I’m on the right track, baby. I was Yorn this way.
Just because you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after a quality dark roast.
Room with a M.E.W.
These guys don’t look well.