We were drinking and having times down by the ocean
Thought of running away, but don't we all
We had this strange idea we were gonna be famous
But we were too drunk to drive or make that call
My amigo
Well his eyes were dead
But he was still writing down the line
He had a cord in his hand
He said, "I wasn't made for these times,"
Amigo, oh
The cemetary
In the cockerush a couple of dirty dogs
It's sad, but I felt blessed
Amongst the dead, we were at our best
Amigo
You're still nineteen
You're still hungry
You're still young
You're still nineteen
You're still hungry
You're still fun
You're only nineteen
You're only hungry
You're so dumb
You're still nineteen
You're still hungry
You're still young
My amigo
Well his eyes were dead
But he was still writing down the lines
He had a cord in his hand
He said, "I wasn't made for these times,"
Amigo, oh
Amigo
♪
I see too many of men watered down
I see too many of fires burn out
I was there to see your eyes of tire
And I was there to hear the talk that didn't inspire
You should've burned your bills
You should've run from the feds
Forgot your name
And flushed your meds
You should've said the things you heard in you head
There's too many good men living dead
And I don't wanna miss a damn thing
Oh, I'm never gonna miss a damn thing
'Cause signs lead to signs
And time's got time
Until there ain't no time at all
Oh, I don't wanna miss a damn thing
Thanks to coming up my show
Oh, oh
Thanks to coming up my
My little piece of work
You never hid in the shadow
I know
We gonna hang out now
Or we gonna keep on rollin'
We gonna just go, and go
Go, we gonna get it your moist Honda pilot
We gonna drive down the shore lake on stereo
Let's just do a lot
We can drive pass your car accident
When you we're eight years old
We got the glass got on your hair
And you would pickin' it out
We just gonna drive
We're not allowed and up still
Jump us out together
We're gonna go
We're gonna turn the tv off
And we're gonna go
We gonna throw our phones in the river
And we're gonna go
I don't give a fuck what Aunt Turner has to say
We gonna go job do some all of painted colors shine in the summer
We gonna meet some locals
And stop em' pine
Wanna them wooden stereo restaurants
When the sun going down
Oh, at top of it
Painted ground roof
We're gonna, we're just gonna hang out, man
We're gonna forget about it all
We don't need your fuckin phone
Doesn't matter anymore
Thanks for comin' at my show, oh
Thanks for comin' at our, our little piece of work
Vancouver, where the glorious sons and kings of Ontario, Canada
We love you!