Fine Foods Market (Live)

The lottery line at fine foods is three blocks long
And Hussein's selling PBR to hipsters with ironic mustaches
Who most definitely once were punk, but now wear flannel
And scream over bar chords on acoustic guitars
The parks full of scum fucks, ooggles, and train kids
Busking and flying signs for Sparks and beast ice
But not food for their dog, not laundry mats to clean their clothes
They don't even shower but that's how it goes
And I don't care much either way
'Cause when they're my age they'll all own Saabs
Vacation homes with pending divorce, memberships at the golf course
And I do not, (hell nah) no I do not (check yourself)
You see I grew up in a traffic jam, a cul-de-sac all American
With tapered jeans and leather jackets and Nike high tops
A hair farmer from the suburbs (ooh-hoo)
A drunk speed metal drummer (ooh-hoo)
Now how the hell did I end up a Realtree camo and Carhartts
It's safe to say that I lost grip (oh look)
There goes another hipster kid
In neon on a track bike paying a school to learn art
A buy green vegetarian, a fashion icon charlatan, at the bar buying rounds
With his mother's credit card
And I don't care much either way
'Cause when they're my age they'll all own Saabs
Vacation homes with pending divorce, memberships at the golf course
And I do not (hell no), no I do not (c'mon)
And I don't care much either way (I don't either)
'Cause when they're my age they'll all own Saabs
Vacation homes with pending divorce, memberships at the golf course
And I do not, no I do not