Booing Is Our Cardio

Waldorf, was this show a mistake? Absolutely, Statler Good, let's stay What's the tempo? BPM, who cares about BPM? Somewhere between five and five hundred Sat down late, seat smells funny Paid too much, where's our money? Guy in front's head's a blocking crime Like the big fall in that never lands on time Fries are soggy, drink is warm This place should come with a legal form The stage looks cheap, curtain's shook We'd leave right now if we weren't so hooked Now they got fiddles, fine, that's us Then a robot kick drum tried to start And what's with all the lasers, son? It's like the sun filed a complaint and won Wind up speech? Longer than a tax form Frying pan hiss? Sound like a kitchen storm Hands up? My hands are fine right here Countdowns? Three, two, why are we still here? Boo, hiss, what is this? Your steam whistle coughs up angry mist Stamp your feet, shake your cane This is art, we feel the strain But hey, wait, hold the phone That fiddle line just hit the bone The singer's flat, dancer's lost Robot polish is paying the cost That DJ pressed one button there In my day, we worked for our despair They tried to handcuff the fiddle run It slipped the cuffs and kept on runnin' They hooked a breathing pump to the bagpipe too That's not music, that's plumbing, you fool And yet the crowd won't stop Unfortunately, neither can the big wallop We came to mock, we came to sneer Why's our foot tapping in here? We came to boo, we came to scold Why's that hook actually kinda bold? Don't make it good, don't make it tight We are trying to hate you, please don't be alright Boo, hiss, try again I've seen better plots on a napkin Too damn loud, food's still bad Worst night out we've ever had But oh, no, don't make it good That wallop hit like it really should (Stomp, stomp, clap, clap) We hate this show (Stomp, stomp, clap, clap) But don't let go Was it awful? Mostly Was it worth it? Don't quote me Punk says now, EDM says wait So they argued and accidentally made it great If the lasers blind us, we'll boo the light But we'll still be here next Thursday night Boo, hiss, one more time This mess is almost kinda fine Nine parts nonsense, one part gold That's how legends get retold We'll complain 'til we're in the ground But we'll buy tickets when you're back in town We hate your bang parts, we hate your noise See you next week, you terrible boys That was terrible Absolutely Same time next week Front row So we can boo louder So we can boo louder