Watsky Tiny Glowing Screens Parts 1 & 2 song lyrics
Watsky Tiny Glowing Screens Parts 1 & 2 song lyrics
Some days I'll wake up and I'll wonder ‘what would Buddha do'?
And at that moment, that's when I jump into my fruity little Subaru.
See, some dudes will front ‘how do you do Mama'.
Because some women see the moola and say ‘Ooh la la'.
But I say 'woo-sah'.
I don't smooch on muchachas who need mucha to mooch off of.
I'm cool for like a futon out in Utah.
A yurt up in the yukon.
When hurting but i'll go back to herding wild yaks in Bhutan.
Or cop a coupe with coupons!
But when you get that FUPA.
That huge Walmart level FUPA like a dugong.
Baby girl, I'll still treat you supa dupa
we can't do wrong.
Because beauty is a dude who puts the moves on,
then moves on.
We're all moving as true pawns.
We get chewed in the food chain, but we're all nude in the new dawn.
Brains screwed on with the plain birthday suit on.
So let's graduate human.
Summa kumbayah, huge honors.
And you goners can do the do and do wander the blue yonder.
‘Cause trying to fool the future takes too LONG!
Put your hands in the air and give it up for K.Flay!
And when the sun burns out, we'll light the world with tiny glowing screens.
Tiny glowing screens, glowing screens.
And when the sun burns out, we'll light the world with tiny glowing screens.
Tiny glowing screens, many glowing screens.
Playing solitaire in restaurants.
Boundaries I'm testing em.
No one's really watching still I sense that I've been messing up.
Human but by day by day I'm feeling like I'm less of one.
Sent most my best friends presents but they're acting like I'm less than one.
Got no direction someone summon Nora Ephron.
Beer pong's how I learned the capital of Lebanon.
Basically we're Lennon John, young & dead and gone.
Whiskey tipsy keep on slipping don't know which end of the bed I'm on.
Calories, Valeries in malls smoking on Cali weed.
How can you complain when you've made up all your realities?
Ballerinas balancing, validating maladies.
Barfing up their salad greens par for mister balanchine.
It's K.Flay chilling' with Watsky, Greens and Kate Nash we got the whole Posse.
So San Francisco, make some fucking noise!
When the sun burns out, we'll light the world with tiny glowing screens.
Tiny glowing screens, glowing screens.
When the sun burns out, we'll light the world with tiny glowing screens.
Tiny glowing screens
There was a time before the pot really got strong.
Before the hippies got jobs talking long, long.
Before the people talked in English out in Hong Kong.
Before the holy Dalai Lama had a dot com.
Before God's dad got it on with God's mom.
Before he made us pretty things on which to drop bombs.
Before the war crimes.
The rich and poor times.
I'm talking in the land before The Land Before Time.
But then the planet lost its baby fat and got crazy.
And we've been acting like some fraidy cats a lot lately.
Something'll kill us like cigarettes or the commies maybe.
Or maybe AIDS or scabies, rabies or zombie babies?
Even the KGB, pray we be free from ADD, wade in and bathe in Hades,
No army or Navy's saving me!
And I can't tell our little victories from epic fails.
It's either heaven or hell and I can't make heads or tails!
Are we useless?
No excuses!
We took the peace sign, reduced it to deuces.
Are we useless?
No excuses!
We took the peace sign, reduced it to deuces.
We took the peace sign, reduced it to deuces.
So raise your peace sign if you're not useless.
Raise your peace sign, no excuses!
We took the peace sign, reduced it to deuces.
Pat Dimitri on the Guitar!
What?
I don't remember telling you motherfuckers to put your peace signs down yet!
When the sun burns out, we'll light the world with tiny glowing screens.
Tiny glowing screens, glowing screens.
When the sun burns out, we'll light the world with tiny glowing screens.
Tiny glowing screens.
When the sun burns out!
When the sun burns out!
When the sun burns out!
When the sun burns out!
We'll light the world!
We'll light the world!
Light the world, light the world!
With tiny, glowing screens.
Yeah, yeah.
One more time for K.Flay!
Make some noise for Watsky!
There's 7 billion 46 million people on the planet,
And most of us have the audacity to think we matter. Yeah!
Hey, you hear the one about the comedian who croaked? They stabbed him in the heart.
Just a little poke, But he keeled over ‘cause he went into battle wearing chain mail
made of jokes.
Hey, you hear the one about the screenwriter who passed away?
He was giving elevator pitches and the elevator got stuck halfway.
He ended up eating smushed sandwiches they pushed through a crack in the door and
repeating the same crappy screenplay idea about talking dogs 'til his last day.
Hey, you hear the one about the fisherman who passed? He didn't jump off that ledge.
He just stepped out into the air and pulled the ground up towards him really fast.
Like he was pitching a line and went fishing for concrete.
The earth is a drum and he's hitting it on beat.
The reason there's smog in Los Angeles is because if we could see the stars, If we
could see the context of the universe in which we exist,
And we could see how small each one of us really is against the vastness of what
we don't know.
Then nobody would ever audition for a McDonalds commercial again!
And then where would we be? No frozen dinners and no TV, and is that a world we want
to text in?
Either someone just microwaved popcorn, Or I hear the sound of a thousand people
pulling their heads out of their asses in rapid succession.
The people are hunched over in Boston.
They're starting screen printing companies and app stores in San Francisco.
They're grinning in Los Angeles, like they got fishhooks in the corners of their
mouth.
But don't paint me like the good guy ‘cause every time I write, I get to choose the
angle that you view me and select the nicest light.
And you would not respect me if you heard the typewriter chatter.
‘Tap tap tapping' through my mind at night.
The same stupid tape loop of old sitcom dialogue,
And tattered memories of some girl I got to grind on in high school,
Filed carefully on rice paper.
My heart is a colored pencil - But my brain is an eraser.
I don't want a real girl, I want to trace her from a catalogue.
Truth be told I'm unlikely to hold you down.
Cause my soul is a crowded subway train, and people keep deciding to get on the next
one that rolls through town.
I'm joining a false movement in San Francisco.
I'm frowning and hunched over in Boston.
I'm grinning in Los Angeles like I've got fishhooks in the corners of my mouth!
And I'm celebrating on weekends.
Because there are 7 billion 47 million people on the planet.
And I have the audacity to think that I matter!
I know that it's a lie but I prefer it to the alternative,
Because I've got a tourniquet tied at my elbow.
I've got a blunt wrap filled with compliments and I'm burnin it.
You say to go to sleep but I been bouncing off my bedroom walls since I was hecka
small.
We're every age at once and tucked inside ourselves like Russian nesting dolls.
My mother is an 8 year old girl.
My grandson is a 74 year old retiree whose kidneys just failed.
And that's the glue between me and you.
That is the screws and nails.
We live in a house made of each other.
And if that sounds strange that's because it is.
Will somebody please freeze time so I can run around turning everyone's pockets inside
out?
And remember... You didn't see shiiiiit.
Thank you.
Thank you very much!