Up Up Done Done

My feet are sore and my throat is hoarse
From stomping and singing through every single chorus
I patiently grew my beard out for this occasion
Paying some sort of tribute with bated anticipation for your last show
You might insist that the name is bad
But I’m not sure that we knew what we had
Resting in a software code and a place where the bar’s been set
With you and me trying to sing a lyric that goes, «What the crap!»
But it never works
But, you don’t need any of us tonight
You don’t need any of us tonight
You don’t need us to call it quits
But, you don’t need any of us tonight
My feet are sore and my throat is hoarse
I stomped and sang all through every single chorus
(That one felt the best
Yeah, whatever)