Man Of Constant Sorrow (ft. Dylan Saunders)

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'