Any day in any weather, he's just unbearable. Full of shit but full of wisdom like beer for dinner and wine for dessert. He has no potential, had his best years long ago. All his good days are behind him, he's just waiting out his miserable life. He don't know how to read good, he tore his knee up a while ago. Now he's just hooked on Oxys, pills for breakfast and cigarettes for lunch. Everybody is his cousin, but no one even knows his name. He's got a big scab on his forehead, where it come from? He doesn't know. Did he even finish high school? I don't think he was that young: one day he just spawned into being - fully formed, and kind of alive. I know he isn't homeless, I think he's even got a family. But he damn sure is shirtless. Around the neighborhood he roams, he's never left here. This is his home.
He's just a useless hoagie head. There's no escaping the hoagie heads.
Across their latest, the Philadelphia punk quartet sift through the emotional wreckage of a dissolved relationship. Bandcamp Album of the Day Jun 25, 2019
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