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my summer in ibeefa - yr friends lyrics

how to get kicked out of places is another of those sk!ll sets we never mean to pick up and still did
tho try as we might, so far tonight, nothing is working
trapped in our own aftermath, with the 4am fallout in a vip ropeoff with a sweaty palm’d dj who can never quite match the beat
the palm trees are plastic and the rep smiles like a shark as he swaps our hipflasks for cards on the bar
there’s girls on our laps who pretend to know who we are
she says, “it’s hard to tell whose faking”
outside, the rest of our demographic is singing songs about england and throwing chairs into the pool, they seem pretty real to me
infinite tokens means we outstay our welcome
the girls on our laps are coming back with us so maybe if they think we’re special, we really are
maybe that’s all it ever is

and in the courtyard she looks back at my friends and bites her bottom lip, “that guy with the shades and the 90s earring, is he cool with this?”
and its all i can do not to laugh and say, “compared to you, he invented this”
and us; we don’t even know what this is
late night social ballet?
the inevitable dance of lads on tour?
there’s smashed glass and vomit and to you it’s red carpet, a wristband upgrade and a hop skip jump to the stars you’d think we are
we’re a party now, two cars, and as they pull up she squeezes my hand and whispers “make sure i’m with you”
i am zen and with everyone, i am p*ssed and the moment’s gone
and as the taxi pulls away there’s this song playing, you know the score
you hear it 20000 times in the background and one night it cl!cks and it’s yours
she was with me, remember, so that makes it ours
and thats the almost the last thing i recall about ibiza in the summer
did she stick around?
was she in that courtyard the month after this, when the machine rolled up and stole our riff?
you hear this arpeggiator?
hey florence, i’m taking it back
with the cheap c*cktails and expense’d bartabs that come with that
cos our girls, built their own coffins
strung out and waving home in the cutaway, borrowed scooters on market day and stopped off where the cliff falls
and the sunlight glistens off the bay and stood out on the old cannons in the sea wall and said, “f*ck this, why could not we stay?”
how ecstasy is a h*ll of a drug but there comes a point when i’ve drunk enough, that empathy is the last thing that i need
and celebrity is a h*ll of a rush, i’m almost proud of the power we pushed but thats the closest that i ever want to be
the worlds most awkward striptease, the ceremonial smoke*all*the*weed, and the smothering arms of sleep
in the morning the girls are gone and by evening i’m cattle class back to the capital, sunburnt under the overcast and jumping barriers at farringdon
f*cking grey
i wrote a song that called her a tourist but on reflection i think its true for both of us
and i’m better at hiding it, but worse with air miles
she said, “its hard to tell whose faking”

- yr friends lyrics

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