Still Make Guitars Cry

This one goes out to any man who doesn’t care
You’ll wanna care when you’re running scared
I could summon such cumbersome stuff to wear
And still find time to outrun the hare

Life’s a carnival game, it’s fun to fare
Then you wonder where your money went, it wasn’t fair
And when I spike that high striker, you’ll wanna stare
Cause I swear i won the world’s largest gummy bear

I’ll tug you from your knuckle hair
I’m the reason boxers have to fight in underwear
I’ll uppercut a sucker if he doеsn’t wear ‘em
Or if he triеs to cross me i’ll just punnet square ‘em

This ain’t your last supper, share
I’ll spare you if you pass me the tupperware
Toss me a couple pears
Underneath your puddle of saliva, yeah they’re under there
And if you were unaware

I ain't a tall guy but i ain’t a small fry
About a minute and a half has gone bye
Trust me I’m a waste of OUR time
But I can still make guitars cry

Don’t think Ubisoft, I can hear your Far Cry
Screaming more than 90 seconds now has gone by
Why try? I’m a waste of our time
But I can still make guitars cry

Drip drip that’s the tears of a sitar
But I’m still living life off a clif bar
And it’s hard, over 8 pounds, to lift bars
But I drop ‘em wit no problem like I’m Pixar
4 Toy Stories, 2 Braves, 6 cars
You’re a coy! boring, too lame for this star
Split you into 8 bits like pixel art
I hit tar-gets, you’re more kwik-mart

Get smart or stay dumb, it is the code
I’ll school you like the magic bus on frizzle’s show
No excuses mr. bueler, if you didn’t know
You missed the show now sit and mope in the bitter cold

Hi and welcome to the 4yo kitchen show
We’ll need corn flour, either way you’re picking rose
Throw these beets on a skillet, yeah, I sizzle those
Roasting every vegetable in hard core chisel mode

And matteo’s rosting potatoes of all kinds
Who think that he’s a neither fly or tall guy
I’ll try to get it through your mind
That I’m nothing but a waste of our time
Who can make a guitar cry

I’m a put and put it underneath the par guy
About 2 minutes and a half have gone by
Birdie, or an eagle, either of ‘em are fly
So I’ll take my time while I make guitars cry