You Sound Like Louis Burdett

Had a little bit to drink
There's a little thing I want at a do out East
Nothing too emotional, my good miss
I couldn't be serious in a room full of jack-knife eyes
Stop talking 'bout the years - you sound like Louis Burdett

And we roll on to my back shed, play some poker, scratch my head
Look at the sky and spot the planes, where would I go on holidays?
Roll with the punches, down the aisles, and down the street the weeks roll by

I'm chewing ice and grinning
I'm spewing up and spinning, it's biliousness as usual in my corner of the kitchen
Hey you, lose that friend before you go anywhere. What? Someone might see you alone?
Stop baggin' out the band, 'cause you sound like Louis Burdett

All my friends are fuck-ups but they're fun to have around
Banana chairs out on the concrete, telling stories to the stars
How Geminis love Wooden Dragons, yeah and how down the street the weeks roll by

The moment the night wears off, the bombsite reappears
They're all asleep but the morning tastes like wine, it tastes like wine in Tempe
I feel so good I just might wake him up
Pat him on the bald head

I'm stoned in a bookshop, sober in a nightclub, sex is everywhere, but nowhere 'round me
By the time she gets to Marrickville we'll be masturbating
It never rains in Tempe but the planes remind of family money and the lack down here
Stop talking frustrated, I'm startin' to sound like Louis Burdett

Writer(s): Timothy James Freedman, Mark James Wells
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