Keeping Up

There's something soothing about a day job
That ruins your clothes
It's miserable and comforting to know
That there's a couch and weed at home
Waiting for me

I missed a lot on the road
I'ma fuck up when I'm home
I'll still be washing dishes when I'm 40 years old
My kidneys caked and braces on both my knees

Outside every inside joke
With my busted ears ringing
God knows I miss being at home

This was Mecca before the property value changed
Everywhere I loved became everything that I hate
Now there's no room for broke asses like me

Don't wanna lose track of my friends
The distance is fucked
It's not that I don't care, I'm just awful at keeping up
There's just no room in my head
Between the scrambled names and burned off piston rings

Outside every inside joke
With my busted ears ringing
God knows I miss being at home