All bets off and all truth told,
This opus joke is getting old.
Lousy songs with lousy words,
Are all that our poor fans have heard.
And it's getting out of hand,
That no one likes our band,
And all the songs we play.
We have a dozen fans,
Our girlfriends and our moms and dads,
But they don't like us that much anyway.
Let's test our limits and test our luck,
Let's try harder not to suck.
Shout it loud, erase all doubt,
THE BOYISH GOOD LOOKS ARE SELLING OUT! YEAH!
And it's getting out of hand,
That no one likes our band,
And all the songs we play.
We have a dozen fans,
Our girlfriends and our moms and dads,
But they don't like us that much anyway.
And it's getting out of hand,
That no one likes our band,
And all the songs we play.
Our 12 unhappy fans,
Disowning us and all we stand for,
But I swear there's a music video on the way.
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