Similar Songs
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Arkells
Musician
Max Kerman
Vocals
Mike DeAngelis
Guitar
Anthony Carone
Keyboards
Nick Dika
Bass Guitar
Tim Oxford
Drums
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Max Kerman
Composer
Mike DeAngelis
Composer
Nick Dika
Composer
Tim Oxford
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Eric Ratz
Producer
Kenny Luong
Engineer
Hiren Mistry
Assistant Engineer
Cameron Lister
Engineer
Tony Hoffer
Additional Producer
Lyrics
Hey!
Hundreds of stories, before I showed up
And they tell them to me, and pull photos up
And there, I'm connected, like a pair of handcuffs
No one seemed affected, that everyone is fucked
But there was a softness, a kind of understanding (understanding)
Those 2 a.m. decisions, always shaky landings
And no one ever knew, what could be demanded (be demanded)
Maybe it's the cards
The cards that she was handed
You call me up from a pay phone
I said, "Hang tight, I can drive you home"
I pulled on up and with a Southern accent
I offered you my Dad's leather jacket (yes)
I met her at a party, she'd come straight from work
Complained that the regulars were all a bunch of jerks
She always looked tired, she dazzled as a drunk
She even pulled off the stupid hair cut
She said, "I don't need a sponsor, or the best lover
Just a man that sees me as some fixer-upper
The last few years, man, I've been running for cover (running)
Trying to sleep, so I can visit my mother"
You call me up from a pay phone
I said, "Hang tight, I can drive you home"
I pulled on up and with a Southern accent
I offered you my Dad's leather jacket
When times were tough, in the worst years
We never knew how to interfere
And now you're back, and just unpacking
Those bruised-up takers, you keep attracting
In September, when he goes off
Like some god-damn alarm clock
And he hits her, like a third shot
Conversations, she just stares off
There's no longer a voice calling
When she goes out
Saying, "I'll be up waiting for you"
You call me up from a pay phone
I said, "Hang tight, I can drive you home"
I pulled on up and with a Southern accent
I offered you my Dad's leather jacket
When times were tough, in the worst years
We never knew how to interfere
And now you're back, and just unpacking
Those bruised-up takers, you keep attracting
You call me up from a pay phone (ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh)
You call me up from a pay phone (ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh)
You call me up from a pay phone (ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh)
You call me up from a pay phone
And I said, "Who the fuck uses a pay phone?"
Writer(s): Max Kerman, Rick Bedrosian, Tim Oxford, Nick Dika
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