Mates Teach At the Pub
A day of torment, a day of harass,
A day of teaching kids at school,
Ends everyday when we sit at the pub,
At our regular spot to refuel.
The air is warm, and my friends all talk,
About nothing that's become all of our lives,
And we talk about the women each of us know,
We talk about other men's wives.
And we mock and we laugh and we say the absurd,
And forget about the events of the day.
Then we shout another beer and bet on a race,
And share the burnt out vintage ashtray.
Some call us crazy to waste what we have,
To be a friend for a friend and a mate.
But this is the beautiful price we will pay,
After we grow the adolescent mind of the state.
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