FOR FANS OF: Have A Nice Life, Holy Fawn, Brand New -- Lyrics: -- When I grow up I’ll be a selfish man Cut off from All of my friends When I grow up I wanna cast a stone Wash off blood That ain’t my own Cinderblock, oh, cinderblock The knots tied tight and its ready to drop Cinderblock, oh, cinderblock Hands held high so the fall don’t stop When I grow up I’ll buy a piece of land Own some slaves And cut off hands When I grow up I wanna burn the iron Bullet hole So I can fondle my scar Cinderblock, oh, cinderblock The knots tied tight and its ready to drop Cinderblock, oh, cinderblock Hands held high so the fall don’t stop (Yeah, the hands held high) (So the fall) (Don't stop) (It won't stop) Cinderblock, oh cinderblock Cinderblock, oh cinderblock Cinderblock, oh cinderblock Cinderblock, oh cinderblock, cinderblockmore

ffo: Have A Nice Life, Brand New, Sunny Day Real Estate New standalone single not attached to any upcoming release, but may be in the future. — This song was written to jump between mindsets of "Tex" Watson [The Manson family right hand man who lead the killings of Tate-LaBianca Murders on Charles Manson's orders] at two distinct points in his life—the dishonest man now and the cold brutalist then. — Lyrics are on the Bandcamp link and down below. — God wants yours and mine So knock on wood For a sweet aerosol breeze In our European skies Don’t spit up on the linen Finally got it dry So much as a stain And its the wheel or the pike Yeah, I’m feeling guilty I swear I really tried In light, from the candle looming My Saturn surprise Fur for dinner Piss for wine Belly bloat Fork and knife You know I get mine His test In a fever Kin bundled up tight Give into holy hunger Leave in the night God wants you divine So knock on wood Earn a marked site With an inspiring line Don’t go saying I was staying Please don’t fucking cry What an ugly, wet face Glad it ain’t mine No, I’m not guilty In truth, I never tried In light, from the moon looming Is it sewage or a water line Fur for dinner Piss for wine Belly bloat Fork and knife You know I get mine His test In a fever Kin bundled up tight Give into holy hunger Leave in the night Fur for dinner Piss for wine Belly bloat Fork and knife You know I get mine His test In a fever Kin bundled up tight Give into holy hunger Leave in the nightmore