In a haze of suburban ennui and existential drift, Goody Grace and G-Eazy serve up a melancholic ode to youth lost in the throes of love and longing. Our protagonists find themselves anchored in a fog of late-night revelry, navigating through the wreckage of broken relationships and uncertain futures. With every tick of the clock and every note of a Smiths tune, they grasp for meaning in the disarray of late-night parties on Persian rugs and whiskey-fueled confessions. Beneath the surface of escapism lies a raw, unfiltered cry for understanding—a hope that one day, the chaotic tapestry of their lives will weave into sense, even if that day seems light-years away. As they chase fleeting moments and elusive solace, they confront the bittersweet realization that perhaps, the answers they seek are cloaked in the uncertainty they so desperately wish to escape.
Girls in the Suburbs Singing Smiths Songs
Lyrics
She don't hit me up anymore, no
Things that were fun just ain't fun anymore, no
Six in the morning, I know I should go home
But I'm
High as fuck and the clock's screaming tick-tock
Girls in the suburbs singing Smiths songs
I know that it's wrong
I don't know what I'm doin', but
Baby one day it'll all make sense (Oh)
Baby one day it'll all make sense (Oh)
Baby one day it'll all make sense
But I just don't know when
And it feels like the end
And all of my friends
Said
That I should get my mind off of the wrong things
I should probably tear off all my heart strings
You can't pull them no more (you know? ayy) No
Baby one day it'll all make sense
Ayy, yeah
Six A.M. on Persian rugs
It's just me and her on drugs
We dip, we just had to swerve the clubs
Paranoid, all on our own
We just tryna be alone
We don't ever feel alone
'Cause people always watchin', yeah
Know this feels apocalyptic
People, they could not predict it
They just bein' optimistic, fuck 'em (fuck 'em) yeah
Listenin' to the Pixies 'til we drunk off all this whiskey
Now we lay here, and it's only you and I
Where we go from here?
Fuck it, life's so sinful, this what I'm into
If you don't understand, maybe I'm mental
I know I'm crazy, yeah, ayy
You don't know what I been through
That text that I sent you, might have been drunk
But that message, I meant 'em
Just got deleted, should have said the real shit
To be continued, ayy
I got a little water bottle full of whiskey
Oh you lookin' pretty like a model, you should kiss me
You so cool with your drugs and your ripped jeans
I'm with you, but you ain't with me, no, no
Baby one day it'll all make sense
But I just don't know when
And it feels like the end
And all of my friends, said
That I should get my mind off of the wrong things
I should probably tear off all my heart strings
You can't pull them no more
Writer(s): Dylan Brady, Gerald Gillum, Goody Grace
Copyright(s): Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
What is the Meaning of Girls in the Suburbs Singing Smiths Songs
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