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Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Parquet Courts
Parquet Courts
Performer
Bernard James Freeman
Bernard James Freeman
Vocals
Sean Yeaton
Sean Yeaton
Bass Guitar
Max Savage
Max Savage
Drums
Andrew Savage
Andrew Savage
Guitar
Austin Brown
Austin Brown
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Bernard James Freeman
Bernard James Freeman
Lyrics
Andrew Savage
Andrew Savage
Composer
Max Savage
Max Savage
Composer
Austin Brown
Austin Brown
Composer
Sean Yeaton
Sean Yeaton
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Austin Brown
Austin Brown
Mixing Engineer
Justin Pizzoferrato
Justin Pizzoferrato
Engineer
Matt Gerhard
Matt Gerhard
Engineer
Sama'an Ashrawi
Sama'an Ashrawi
Producer
Jonny Schenke
Jonny Schenke
Mixing Engineer
DJ Candlestick
DJ Candlestick
Mixing Engineer
OG Ron C
OG Ron C
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

My misophonia brought the faders up
Now she's a military grade in Dolby Surround
Around 5.1, cue the barking from the baritone
Conductor in the pit for the car honk duet
Half-tone harmony from the sewer
Rebel youth choir belt phrases even newer
Dump truck man drops the beat with trash cans
Call 911, we got therapy demands
Philharmonic got a first chair car crash
Pan the falsetto to smash the glass
It's a drive-by lullaby that couldn't get worse
A melody abandoned in the key of New York
Where nothing comes after
I'm a passtime streamer, hangin' from the rafters
I don't get out, I don't have fun
Living like a captive of the sun
So I gotta put my shades on
Riding through the city as I gets my escalade on
Flipping down the streets that my reputation was made on
King of the city, the mayor finna put a parade on
Drop the confetti from off the rooftop
While I come down candy and let my roof drop
I got a baddie shotgun in a tube top
With some daisy dukes on and some tube socks, listening to 2Pac
You ain't know I do rock records? I do it all
I got my hands in some cookie jars, you ain't knew at all
I took a chance and threw caution up in the wind
'Cause I got nothing to lose but got something to win
We throw it up against the wall and see if it sticks
It's gon' end up being a bomb or being the shit
They said the fix was in, guess we'll know when it's done
Until then we'll just be captives of the sun
I sight read the chart, clap the rocks into sand
A 12-pass van on a pot-hole band stand
Got an oil can hangover by default
And trucks pave the roads with amphetamine salt
Skull shaking cadence of the J train rolls
Rhythm of defeat, repeating like a pulse
Marching on and static, lyrics shout a retort
To the melody abandoned in the key of New York
Where nothing comes after
I'm a passtime streamer, hangin' from the rafters
I don't get out, I don't have fun
Living like a captive of the sun
Written by: Andrew Savage, Austin Brown, Max Savage, Sean Yeaton

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