One Stop Shop (Brownstein)

You’re running so fast in the wrong direction

Not one to stand on the side of convention

Think you’re heating up but you’re coolin’

You’re fat and you’re droolin’

The local babblin’ fool man

Your face caked with the taste of last night’s pile

You’ve been at it for days and still wearin’ a smile

Who would’ve guessed that the heart in your chest

It would never need rest

Ride out the same old tank ‘til there’s nothing left

It’s the same kind of player in this kind of game

I bet the story would fit if you just changed the name

Any guy who thinks he’s king of the town

Is usually the one that’s burnin’ it down

The taxes will show he’s a holistic healer

But the people in town know him as the dealer

Nothing to share but plenty to buy

Driveway lookin’ like a drive-thru line

He’s flowin’ with cash but it comes with a catch

He passes the rock then it’s back to the stack

A life wrapped up in using

But so long as he’s groovin’

What could he possibly be losing?

It’s the same kind of player in this kind of game

I bet the story would fit if you just changed the name

Any guy who thinks he’s king of the town

Is usually the one that’s burnin’ it down

Every night out he walks into the closet

Grabs a silk shirt with the stash pocket

Bottle filled and he’s ready to rock it

A well-oiled machine only blue can stop this

Written by Jake Brownstein

Copyright Lazy Egg Records