Can someone please jog my memory?
I’m not sure if it's the beer talking or just me.
But I’m 23 and still a-fucking-lone
And I’m paranoid of talking on the phone.

All my best friends are obsessed
With marble hornets and porn star tits.
They've got one thing in common.
They're fake as fucking shit and I’m over it.

I promised myself I wouldn’t sing another song
About that girl that fucked me and left
And I find it funny how I always end up letting myself down
But I guess it’s reassurance that I’m still human.

All my best friends are obsessed
With smoking weed and getting pussy.
So I’m always sitting by myself.
Why do I put up with this shit?
Well, I’m over it.

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
My only regret is loving you.

All my best friends are fucking gone
Or live three states away.
So I’m always writing songs about being alone
But I’m over it.

No, I’m not.