곡 정보

It's 553 on Thanksgiving
Not one customer's walked through the door
But I'm still here, slinging drinks for a living
I've never played piano before

Not bad

I know this town like the back of my hand
But I'm not such a fan of the back of my hand
Cause if you look real close
At those little hairs and veins You're like
Hands are sort of gross

It's hard to explain
The point is Hey, West Covina
Why won't you let me break free
Am I doomed to stay here
Pouring my high school friends beers
For the rest of eternity

Hey, West Covina
You know just where to find me
I'll never go far, so pull up to the bar
Hey, West Covina What'll it be

It's 555, I'm still singing
The big Turkey Day game's letting out
But no one's coming here
Who am I kidding Hey, you sunburned MILFs
Give me a shout

Everyone's going home
Cause it's time to give thanks
Thanks for the chain stores and outlets and banks
Thanks for this town three short hours from the beach
Where all of your dreams can stay just out of reach

Hey, West Covina
You're not listening, so what's the use
Is my purpose in life to slice limes with a knife
Or to serve Deb a vodka and cranberry juice

Hey, Deb, I'll be right with you

Hey, West Covina
Look what you're doing to me
You're killing me, West Covina
Last call, West Covina
What'll it be