GUN

"Actually, ten-thousand."
"Wha-, ten-thousand a year?"
"Yeah, like realistically for my job... man I-"
"Wh- where are you at? Where are you at?" ("I keep switching it, I keep switching it.")
"You know me, at the restaurant. I'm a busser bro.
I don't make-, I don't make too much."
"What happened at Cold Stone? I've-, or you haven't been there for a while."
"Yeah, no I... I just left because I needed a better job to pay me more..."
"Does Col-, does that pay less than Yoni or whatever?
"Cold Stone paid less, yeah."
"Nah, a guy actually came in there recently. He was uhh..., he pulled out a gun."

Am I wrong?
Am I just your convenient-passive add-on?
Was this your twisted fiction?
Was it my wrong?
It wasn't my confession
What have I done?
You keep asking all these questions
Is it my gun?

"In Cold Stone, he-, he was looking for me bro."
"Like a few weeks ago, but I already-, I already left like multiple months ago, but he was apparently like an old friend of mine."
"He saw someone in the store that he didn't like, and he pulled out a gun on them... but he didn't shoot or anything but-"
"Bro what?" ("He still got arrested.")
"He was my old friend, and a friend I honestly don't want to be around because he got into really bad stuff in middle school."
"He-, he had a job there?"
"Did he?"
"At Creamery?"
"He didn't. He just knew I worked there, me and my buddy from middle school."
"But yeah, he just-, he saw somebody in there he didn't like and he just pulled out a gun."

I'd like to keep my space, don't go save face now
I'd like to lie awake, don't pull my lace out
I'm an all-pro entertainer, leave me alone
I'm the all-pro escalator, don't touch my clothes
'Cause you're weird and irritating
And my words are getting shady
Sheraton
And I met you at the carnival
And I wrote you off, and this is wrong
But here we are