Expo '87 Songtext
von Fred Thomas

I get so hung up high on expectations
I get so sick at restaurants and on family vacations
And I leave every situation invariably feeling dumb
But you′ve got to be a little bit dumb
Otherwise you never get anything done
And you've gotta be kinda hit
Otherwise you spend your time smiling entirely too much
Wincing while you′re waiting
For that next soft punch
So give up, fuck up, stay out
Cause no one's keeping score now
This punishment, it doesn't fit
But fuck it, we′ve got it
You still know what all the drop-outs know
And anybody who′s ever lost a tooth It doesn't bring you any closer to the truth,
But you do start to recognize things
So can you keep your firm belief in those ill-fitting jeans,
A burning hatred of the home team and everything that it means
Will you go with the mongrels? The deciders?
The jelly legs and anxious elbows of the awkward lovers?
The unsightly? The sickly?
The migraines?
Let′s puke up the foam from this bottle of champagne
Let's ruin this fucking wedding!
All these nights are only worth forgetting
This conversation; we′re so above it.
Let's bury it
Let′s dead that shit!