What’ll It Be?

Its 5:53 on Thanksgiving
Not one customers walked through the door
But Im still here, slingin drinks for a living
Ive never played piano before
Not bad.
I know this town like the back of my hand
But Im not such a fan of the back of my hand
Cause if you look real close
At those little hairs and veins Youre like
'Hands are sort of gross '
Its hard to explain
The point is:
Hey, West Covina
Why wont 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
Ill never go far, so pull up to the bar
Hey, West Covina
Whatll it be?
Its 5:55, Im still singing
The big Turkey Day games letting out
But no ones comin here
Who am I kiddin?
Hey, you sunburned MILFs
Give me a shout
Everyones going home
Cause its 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
Dun-dun bom-bom!
Gun-ga bom-dom!
Hey, West Covina
Youre not listenin, so whats the use?
Is my purpose in life to slice limes with a knife?
Or to serve Deb a vodka and cranberry juice?
Hey, Deb, Ill be right with you.
Hey, West Covina
Look what youre doing to me
Cant you see, West Covina
Youre killing me, West Covina
Last call, West Covina
Whatll it be?