This late at night it's hard to tell what's real and what's not.
I need to sleep with our seatbelts f**ing,
The trees are people watching, jerking off
To our faces and our parts.
You're barely 20, your father's a cop.
He has some guns and if you turn their safeties off
I know which one your room is,
Should I knock, should I knock?
In the home of burning couches and five bucks a cup,
I'll use The Facebook to look you up.
I can sneak in past the trees.
I can sneak in:
Through the deck.