OP’s TSotD-Glorious Sons

Mother, I don’t wanna take my medicine
24 years in the gutter again, I’m losing it
I’m losing it
Everybody’s acting like they’re all alright
I can barely get myself to sleep at night, I’m sick of it
Yeah, I’m sick of it
Yeah, they sent the taxman
I lost my job, and
You got hooked on oxycodone
They shut the lights off
They took the car, and
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
Yeah, they sent the taxman
I lost my job, and
You got hooked on oxycodone
They shut the lights off
They took the car, and
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
I’d rather be crazy than to take these pills
I’m sick of being okay against my will
I’m losing it, I’m losing it
Ain’t a thing in this world that I’m gonna miss
It’s all fake smiles and leather jackets
We’re full of it, yeah we’re full of shit
I don’t know who to trust
Yeah, they sent the taxman
I lost my job, and
You got hooked on oxycodone
They shut the lights off
They took the car, and
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
Yeah, they sent the taxman
I lost my job, and
You got hooked on oxycodone
They shut the lights off
They took the car, and
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
I’m losing it
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
I’m losing it
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
I don’t know who to trust
Maybe people like us
Yeah, they sent the taxman
I lost my job, and
You got hooked on oxycodone
They shut the lights off
They took the car, and
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
Yeah, they sent the taxman
I lost my job, and
You got hooked on oxycodone
They shut the lights off
They took the car, and
I bought a sawed-off shotgun
Yeah, they sent the taxman
I lost my job, and
You got hooked on oxycodone
They shut the lights off
They took the car, and
I bought a sawed-off shotgun

Message for aspiring artists: Don’t write things because your management tells you to. Though I love mine, they can make my job harder. Sometimes they cause me to confuse the reasons, the meaning, the feeling that I reach for everyday, and sometimes grasp, and sometimes celebrate. They are scared, That you will not understand, Sawed Off Shotgun. So they want me to explain it to you. They are scared, Because of Columbine. Because of Paris. Because of Las Vegas. Because of white kids with guns. Because of fools who misinterpret the meaning of freedom. Because of fools alike who misinterpret the word of God. Because of the NRA. Because of Ted Nugent. Because of Isis. Because of Trump. Because of Slavery. Because of misogyny. Because of Ike Turner. Because everyone is scared. Because everyone is pointing fingers, and drawing lines in the sand. I don’t blame them. I am scared too. But I will not explain my song to you. If you like it, I hope you understand that I wrote it for you. If you don’t, I hope you understand that I wrote it for you too. If you are hurting, I hope it helps. If it doesn’t, I am sorry for that. I know that some people know feelings that I do not. Just know that I am not celebrating anyone’s sadness. I am not celebrating a thing in the world, with this song. I am sad too. Because of Ritalin. Because of AR-15s. Because of Fentanyl. Because of Jesus. Because I can’t pay the rent. Because of Detroit. Because of Flint. Because of John Wayne. Because I keep having panic attacks and going to the hospital. Because of Lena Dunham. Because of The Bank of America. Because of Syria, a country that was beautiful before the war – but we wouldn’t know. Because I miss my girl. Because of Robert E. Lee. Because of the Clintons. Because my mother just returned from surgery, and I was scared the pain in her stomach was cancer. Because of Cocaine. Because of McDonald’s. Because of Jordan B. Peterson, who I can’t help but agree with on a couple things, not all things, and I don’t even know if that’s okay anymore. Because I miss Campo Viejo. Because California is turning grey. Because of the Marlboro Man. Because the litter on the side of the road in Prince Edward Island is probably from Ontarian tourists. Because I am still trying to figure out who I am, without alcohol dancing in my veins. I would like to know your reasons, whoever you are. Not for comparison, or debate. But to feel. To grow. To learn. I want to feel like you, though I never will. And sometimes I don’t, because I’m scared of the pain. But I hope we can try, You and I. As for the song, know this is true. I only wrote it, because I love you. Written by Brett Emmons Shot and edited by Justin Broadbent

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