When I was a little kid they told me not to cry because babies are the only ones who do
Well now I’m 25 and I still cry all the time, guess I’m the biggest baby of them all
I’m just so exhausted, oh I’m so fucking tired of fending for myself all the time
Can’t even go a year without becoming houseless, but my dad says it don’t count cuz I got a van

oh yeah

Yeah I guess it could be worse, I could be fuckin dead, but that’s too low a bar if you ask me
At least the stranger on the train’s kind enough to yell out faggot as a warning ‘fore he tries to choke me out
At least I have the privilege of this trauma to unpack, Because lord knows I could use the character
So I guess I’ll just keep driving until Bertha kicks the bucket
And I can finally feel bad for myself

Well maybe I just shouldn’t listen to Baribou when I’m driving in the rain towards Morgantown
Or maybe I should keep doing the things that make me feel, so that anger isn’t the only thing I do
And I know that I’m weird, and it’s hard to explain, but I can’t afford to have a stranger say what’s wrong with me
So I’m sorry if I act like a little kid sometimes
cause if this is what adulthood is I want my fucking money back

I’ve got a receipt right here, it’s got a date and a time that tells me why I cry
And why I get the impulse to leave it all behind
And why I just can’t seem to fucking get it right
But I think it’s something more than the stars can define
So I’ll just say I’m Baby, and move on with my life