Look, no more swimming to the bottom of the pool,
Or looking in the closet for what you know isn't there,
No more trying to hang out alone because you know you'll never be cool.
And man, google it, bleach tastes like ****, and you know you'd be missed so quit.
Sit and follow bit by bit as I list what you're in, because all I have to do is reminisce.
We've been there, man, so cut the crap. We'll draw you a map to get to your cap,
Your maximum capacity.
To be what your Dad could be before he started chasing secretaries behind your Mother's back
and lost his dignity as the dignitary of your household.
We see what you do and what you've lost, you paid the cost of false love and we know.
My friend, we know.
There's no reason, no rhyme, but it doesn't help to whine, nor wine.
We've been there, and we'll tell you, it gets better, my friend, we promise.
It deteriorates and decomposes at a fast rate that keeps you up late as you miss your mate, the one you believe made you great.
But you were great before the ***** walked out the door shaking what brought you there to a fake amour.
There's no reason to sit and cry by the fireplace and wait and waste until your waist is eight,
just because a girl you tried to date couldn't relate to your place in the world.
We know, my friend, we know. And we know it gets better.
So pick yourself up off the floor and dust off that kitty sweater.