Dysfunctionally

You see us up here on the stage, you don’t see any signs of rage, or trouble 

You think we get along, but you don’t know, everything

This band has lots of issues, I hate to pop your bubble

We often fight, right backstage the fists will swing

Hey Cory, step aside, let a real singer take the mic now

half the audience complained they’d like your amp turned down 

Put that six string, back in its case, now

We all could live, without that sound

Way too loud, man

Way too loud, man, turn it down

Check out, Spence on bass, his rhythm, sets the pace

He brings his Telecaster gee-tar, in fact, he brings two or three 

“The World’s Okayest Guitar Player” it says, on his shirt

He’s actually quite good, but not as good as me

Paul Walker doesn’t mind, if he makes a, few mistakes 

If he hits half the notes, he’s doing alright

I’m just kidding Paul can play, most anything

Showing me up, most every night

Makes me angry

how he plays perfectly

Wait, we can’t forget Seth, back foolin’ around with the drumsticks

True, he’s really not bad, I admit he knows his chops

But once in a while, when he tries to sing and, play the drums

He’ll drop his stick and, the music stops

Awkward silence

He says, “where did that stick go?”

Who knows

And then Reilly, steps right up to the microphone 

He belts it out, you know he’s got great pipes

But if, he thinks, I’m to loud

He lets me know, with lots of gripes

We make music

but, dysfunctionally