Watsky - Sloppy Seconds

Fuck you if you love a car for its paint job!
Love you if you love a car for the road trips!
Show me the miles, and your arms, and the pink scar,
Where the doctor had to pull out all the bone chips.
‘Cause you were pressing on the gas just a bit hard
Right in the moment where the road curved a bit sharp,
And when you woke up,
Somebody was unclipping your seat belt
And pulling you from the open window of your flipped car.

Cold pizza,
Tie-dye shirts,
Broken hearts,
Give ‘em here, give ‘em here.
Hand-me-downs,
Give me, give me leftovers,
Give me, give me sloppy seconds,
Give ‘em here, give ‘em here.

I don't care where you've been,
How many miles, I still love you.
I don't care where you've been
How many miles, I still love you.

Show me someone, who says they got no baggage,
I'll show you somebody, who's got no story.
Nothing gory means no glory, but, baby, please, don't bore me.
We won't know until we get there,
The who, or the what, or the when, where,
My favorite sweater was a present that I got a couple presidents ago,
And I promised that I would rock it till it's thread bare,
Bet on it!
Every single person gotta couple skeletons,
So pretty soon in this room
It'll just be me and you when we clear out all the elephants,
Me and you and the elements.

You all have all pitfalls,
Beer's flat, the cabs have been called,
And everybody and their momma can hear
The drama that's happening behind these thin walls.

Cold pizza,
Tie-dye shirts,
Broken hearts,
Give ‘em here, give ‘em here.
Hand-me-downs,
Leftovers,
Sloppy seconds.
Give ‘em here, give ‘em here.

I don't care where you've been,
How many miles, I still love you.
I don't care where you've been
How many miles, I still love you.
I don't care where you've been,
How many miles, I still love you.
I don't care where you've been
How many miles, I still love you.

My pattern with women isn't a flattering image,
But I don't want to run away because I said so.
I don't want to be the guy to hide all of my flaws,
And I'll be giving you the side of me that I don't let show.
Everything in fashion
That has ever happened
Always coming crashing down,
Better let go.
But in a couple years it will be retro,
You rock Marc Ecko,
My shirts have the gecko.
‘Cause in the past, man, I was hopeless,
But now's when my little cousins look the dopest –
Whoop-whoop!
Fuck the fashion po-po!
Have a stale doughnut, I don't need no tips.
Fuck a five-second rule!
That's a plan I never understood,
It's September in my kitchen in a Christmas sweater
Sipping cold coffee on the phone with damaged goods.
And there is not a single place that I would rather be,
I'm fucked up just like you are, and you're fucked up just like me.

Cold pizza,
Tie-dye shirts,
Broken hearts,
Give ‘em here, give ‘em here.
Hand-me-downs,
Give me, give me leftovers,
Give me, give me sloppy seconds,
Give ‘em here, give ‘em here.

I don't care where you've been,
How many miles, I still love you.
I don't care where you've been
How many miles, I still love you.
I don't care where you've been,
How many miles, I still love you.
I don't care where you've been
How many miles, I still love you.