Quarter past seven Video (MV)

One, two, three, go
Tapping my fingers on the top of an old wood box
With some dull six strings
And them lights come on and the curtain falls
And they're waiting on me to sing
And I'm sweating from head to toe
Trying to remember the notes
But I can't sing, baby, you know me
So I pack my shit and go home

And when I rolled in, it was so damn late
And I'd parked sideways in the drive
And I bust through the front door
So hammered and high
That I can't recall your name
Or the time, or the place
Keep it Irish with the goodbyes
Hell, I'm doing alright, I can't feel it anyway

And they say that I need friends
And a little bit of stress relief
But the bullshit never ends
Man, I think it's gonna bury me
And I hope I can drink in heaven
I'd be lucky just to get in
I can't find my car, cause I'm drunk at the bar
And it's only a quarter past seven

And I've spent ten years just writing songs
About everything I know
But when all you know is heartbreak
And a good but broken home
Well, you can't get mad when a record label
Just don't pick up the phone
But my job sucks and I need a way out
And I got nowhere to go

And they say that I need friends
And a little bit of stress relief
But the bullshit never ends
Man, I think it's gonna bury me
And I hope I can drink in heaven
I'd be lucky just to get in
I can't find my car, cause I'm drunk at the bar
And it's only a quarter past seven