Brian Wilson

[Verse 1]
Wouldn't it be nice if I were younger
Rewind a couple years and find hunger
Now I stick another candle in the cake
Another year without an album to my name
All I do is sleep with a blanket on my face
Wake up and add on to my weight
Fuck tryin' put a salad on my plate
You can't make friends with salad anyways...
Twelve songs could have me on a road
And one hit could have me going gold
Trust me - they had me on a road
Dad yelling
"Los Angeles is on the phone!"
Whatever Happened to the Music was the song
They thought would get me on the Rolling Stone
A rant over looped Green Day guitars
And all they need were eleven more
But I was bored
The shit was too easy
I'm the motherfuckin' man is what I believed
Listening to you was beneath me
Big-headed like Christina Ricci
I slept and let a couple months past me
Whatever happened to the music is what they asked me
I told you - I'm writin', chill son
I'm finishing tomorrow, I'm tired
Time to go to bed - Brian Wilson

[Verse 2]
I started at the bottom and I stayed there
Felt like I laid there for eight years
Slept deeper than the end that I dove in
Desmond Howell in a bathrobe, soakin'
Confused, forgot what I wanted
Lost the spark that I had when I started
Burned out, exhausted
Went from potential to false promises to gone
I vanished into thin wind slow
A fat guy in a ripped little coat
Dad died and I slipped in a coma
I was awake but I listened to no one
I was distant, I was pissed off
I was the last living Christoff
And I was angry with the other side of my window
A side that I wasn't built for
A side that I wasn't fit for
Convinced I was better off indoors
Until my pills ran out and my killed buzz
Makes me sick till I refill my script-up
My only reason to sit up
And I'm supposed to pen songs to some kickdrums?
Give me the night and I'll finish up
I'm tired, time to go to bed
Brian Wilson

[Outro]
Friday's child
Born a little ugly
Friday's child
Good looks passed her by
Friday's child
Makes something look like nothing