Wardrobe

Villager: Admit it

Admit it
Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance
And vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs
You know nothing about art or sex
That you couldn't read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine
Prototypical non-conformist
You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo
You adhere to a set of standards and tastes
That appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges, bullshit
Giving a thumbs up or thumbs down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of music and art
Go analog baby, you're so post-modern
You're diving face forward into a antiquated path
It's disgusting, its offensive, don't stick your nose up at me

You spend your time sitting in circles with your friends
Pontificating to each other
Forever competing for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory
In which you hog the intellectual spotlight
Holding dominion over the entire shallow pointless conversation
Oh, we're not worthy
When you walk by a group of quote-unquote normal people
You chuckle to yourself patting yourself on the back as you scoff
It's the same superiority complex
Shared by the high school jocks who made your life a living hell
And makes you a slave to the competitive capitalist dogma
You spend every moment of your waking life bitching about

Well let me tell you this, I am shamelessly self-involved
I spend hours in front of the mirror, making my hair elegantly disheveled
I worry about how this album will sell

You are a faker, admit it
You are a fraud, admit it
Yeah, you're living a lie, hey, living a lie, hey, you're life is living a lie
You don't impress me, admit it
You don't intimidate me, admit it
Why don't you bow down, get on the ground, walk this fucking plank, yeah