Man Of Constant Sorrow (ft. Dylan Saunders)

In constant sorrow of through his days

I am a man of constant sorrow

I've seen trouble all my day.

I bid farewell to san francisco

The place where I was born and raised.

(The place where he was borned and raised)

I'm almost never in the city I was born and bred in anymore but everywhere I tour

I'm repping black and orange

I'm trekking back and forth forgetting what I'm packing for

I have to travel more and add a couple saddle sores

Got these battle scars from riding in the cattle car

You're noshing on some caviar,

I'm gnawing on your apple cores

Mental checklist

You're mr. International

But last I checked I'm mr. Continental breakfast

Condiments and checks mix

Condoms but I'm sexless

But I'm optimistic

I'll dismiss my bigger issues

If I fit into some mistress like the long block in tetris

I was roaming in wyoming when the popo were arresting me

I told em questing for my destiny-- noo

I always end up in detention cause I'm itching

And I'm searching for adventure and each city I go

It's fare thee well my old lover

I never expect to see you again

For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad

Perhaps I'll die (die!) upon this train

(Perhaps he'll die upon this train)

Papa is a head doctor. I think he's socrates

But he can't get my twin brother to want to talk to me

But I rarely try and so it's partly my hipocracy

Got a couple secrets under lock and key as property

Manage em like manic depression sparking the brocoli

I'd rather take my lumps display dirty laundry

Than pop a pill and stagger through this day like I'm zombie

Like I'm some unhappy and unnatural blondie abercrombie model with the fakest fucking smile plastered on me

I might be a sarcastic bastard, but I'm never plastic

And my massacist tendency's

Imagining disaster and then mastering its recipe

So I hit the road out of neccessity to stop guarding

And I'll hop out and run if ever my car is not starting

For now I'm not charging

All my meals are business meals

Cause my business is not starving

You can bury me in some deep valley

For many years (years!) where I may lay

Then you may learn -you may learn- to love another

While I am sleeping (sleeping!) in my grave

(While he is sleeping in his grave)

4Am again, the radio alarm is kicking in

I've been to every shady old la quinta inn in michigan

Hitting the iginition till I'm stripping off my michilen's

If you catch me bitching then remind me

How magnificent my life is

How the struggle's priceless

Cause I got those lovely troubles that you couldn't put a damper on

Each unhappy camper on this planet is a champion

If you think you're hopeless and you'll never be like kobe and you

Got an empty mantle case you never in won a trophy man

Well you still won that marathon of swimming that fallopian

And I've learned lot I could lose

Cause there's a lot of dead sperm in the socks that I've used

Who would love to be the feet in the socks in my shoes

So better get to walking till those spoiled feet are bruised

And then sow your royal oats till you're growing something new

Maybe your friends think (your friends think he) I'm just a stranger (they think I'm strange)

My face you'll never (but you won't see) see no more (my face no more)

But (but there is one) there is one (one more to find) promise that is given (promise I'm give)

I'll meet you on (I'll meet you on) God's golden shore (God's golden shore)

(That golden california shore)

Wax:

Hey, nice to meet y'all fellas!

Man -- hey! You think you could spare me a beer?

Hey! Wha-what's wrong with you man? Why you crying and frowning like a little pussy or somethin' like that man?

Watsky:

Oh my God! I can't believe it! Famous country troubladordail fire burned himself and stumbled across our humble little camp fire!

Troubladordail fire:

Don't go gettin' all starry-eyed on me, pud.

Wasky:

I can't help it, I guess I'm just a little school girl...

Wax:

You look like a fuckin' school girl, shut the fuck up and pass me a beer and play me something that it ain't goin' to make me wanna kill myself!

Watsky:

Well, there was this one tune my mammy used to sing to me bouncing me on her knee... And it goes as such...

Kick monday in the nutsack

Wedgie wednesday's buttcrack

I'm coming hard for fridayy

...Or somethin'