Crying at the Tote

Crying, crying at the Tote

Cheap beer in my throat

Trying not to choke

Crying, crying at the Tote

Cheap beer in my throat

I let my baby go

And I can bleach my hair and rearrange my room

And I can fuck my friends, and I can wander home

But I’m still crying, crying at the Tote

So I’m watching this band, these dudes are wailing at me

And I’m wailing at them, waiting for my chippies

I’m crying, crying at the Tote

Crying, crying at the Tote

Cheap beer in my throat

Trying not to choke

Crying, crying at the Tote

Cheap beer in my throat

I let my baby go

And I was doing fine, having baths, drinking wine

But 6am at the servo, I see you in line

I’m crying, crying at the Tote

So I go the bar, ask for a sparkling wine

And they laugh in my face, and then they sell it to me anyway

I’m crying, crying at the Tote

Crying, crying at the Tote

Cheap beer in my throat

Trying not to choke

Crying, crying at the Tote

Cheap beer in my throat

I let my baby go

Crying, crying

Crying, crying

Crying, crying

Crying, crying

Crying, crying

Crying, crying