Shouting - Matt Nathanson

All my friends are drunk, living in the future

All my friends are punks;

they never heard The Clash

All my friends are vain, but scared of their reflection

Aiming for the wall;

never feel the crash

It’s ours to win

We’ll keep throwing punches til the walls cave in

Thieves in the temple;

Eve and the apple

Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit

Head full of judges, mouth full of luggage

We whisper, baby;

we should be shouting

Whoa-oh-oh, shouting

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh

All my friends are straight, playing at being crooked

All my friends are rich, but always strapped for cash

All my friends are sad, but wanna live forever

Back against the wall, face against the glass

It’s ours to win

We’ll keep throwing punches til the walls cave in

Thieves in the temple;

Eve and the apple

Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit

Head full of luggage and a mouth full of judges

We whisper, baby;

we should be shouting

Whoa-oh-oh, shouting

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh

Whoa-oh-oh, shouting

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-whoa-oh

Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit

Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit

Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit

Everybody’s twisted, baby, trying to fit