The bar queue's a showcase of Dangerfield threads,
The DJ's spinning "This Charming Man" again,
All the cool kids saying that they already knew it,
Singing "I'm so fucking indie, I don't even listen to music".

A map of the entire world,
To pinpoint just where we are,
We know every song word for word,
And we're playing air guitar, GUITAR!

They came in carrying buckets coming from the south,
Until every stovepipe was washed out,
And every A-line skirt was met with a different crowd,
And every popped collar their wardrobe allowed.

We're sticking to the floor at the Rochester again,
They've watered down all the beer,
And nobody is dancing, DANCING!

I wasn't asking for a sales pitch,
I wanted to ask if you could teach,
Teach me how to use a Holga,
We could spend the late afternoon taking long exposures.

We go back every year just to see if it's the same,
'Cause of some sentimental value we're trying to recover,
Like a T-shirt in the closet that belonged to an ex-lover.

We're sticking to the floor at Rochester again,
They've watered down all the beer,
And nobody is dancing,

We're sticking to the floor at Rochester again,
They've watered down all the beer,
And nobody is dancing,

We're sticking to the floor at Rochester again,
They've watered down all the beer,
And nobody is dancing,

We're sticking to the floor at Rochester again,
They've watered down all the beer,
And nobody is dancing, DANCING!

We knew that we had to leave,
We knew that we had to leave,
Everyone we knew had gone,
We knew that we had to,
We knew that we had to,
We knew that we had to leave.