I should have learned computer science
So I’d have a job,
Practical procedures I can carry out with ease.
Instead I trudged through biochem out of sheer will –
And now I’m left without a marketable skill.
My father’s yelling constantly about “real life”,
Says I’m irresponsible and unaware of toil,
That my head is in the clouds and I’m out of the world –
Before he takes my keys and leaves to change my oil.
Is up-to-date on techy things,
Meanwhile I have broken three mp3 players,
Three cellphones, two computers and one camera –
Like the twelve days of Christmas – falala-la-la.
Whom I see five minutes a week face-to-face
Who won’t ask me out but spends all night online with me,
And built up a harem of possibilities and fantasies
That chase him ’til he rejects them awkwardly –
He has a marketable skill,
one for which I'd kill
(maybe I will).
’Cause everything is not like how it sounds, sounds, sounds –
And now we’re talkin’ bout “real life”.
I pray my references will lie.
There’s nothing gained in staying shy,
’Cause it’s inevitable that I’ve got to make up shit –
So I’ll take liberties to elaborate a bit:
I play piano and guitar
I can almost strum a chord.
I know Paint Shop Pro 9,
I made some drawings, they were fine.
I’m an “artist”, “writer”, “musician”
And many other ones besides
But if I were to be honest, I would say my forte
Lies in writing silly songs ’bout going ’long my way.
Not about political affairs
Nor useful product reviews
But about the act of writing those,
The focus never on the point lookout,
But about about,
about the other side of it, the underside we hide.
Now see me flipping over logs like Pumba and Timon,
Makin’ 90s references ’cause I’m a 90s girl.
Got no boyfriend ’cause I’m used to bein’ alone.
But it’ll be okay.
I’ll marry Johnnie or Jose.
Captains Morgan and Alina –
I think it has a nice ring
(Nicer than the one I won’t be wearing).
While the world moves fast ahead, I’ll strum my mandolin,
Singin’ about what’s happenin’,
Not things, not judgments on the world without,
But about about.