Just like I hate Fenders
Just like I can't stand the snow
Just like my hand-me-down truck that I miss so much
Even with no stereo

And just like fucking with a condom on
Though I've got no fucking disease
Like getting tested for a brand new girl
Who just turns around and leaves

Like full-time school, a part time job
And a niece I never see
Like headwinds. Girls with boyfriends
No money for no TV

Just like that headstone with my name
Engraved from a generation passed
Like being twenty-three on Thursday
Like growing up too goddamn fast

Like a cell phone full of numbers
But not one soul I want to call
Just like half-read books read by well-read eyes
That pretend to have read them all

Like following a dream
That cripples you with debt
Like laughing at a joke
That hasn't caught up with you yet

Because I once new why in those Kris Kross days
Spin the bottle and she moves in mysterious ways
Like a stupor
A Winnie Cooper
But now nothing makes sense to me