Steven M. Gold - What'll It Be? lyrics

[Greg, singing] It's 5:53 on Thanksgiving Not one customer's walked through the door But I'm still here, slinging drinks for a living I've never played piano before [Greg, talking] Not bad [Greg, singing] I know this town like the back of my hand But I'm not such a fan of the back of my hand Cause if you look real close At those little hairs and veins You're like "Hands are sort of gross" It's hard to explain The point is - Hey, West Covina Why won't you let me break free? Am I doomed to stay here Pouring my high school friends beers For the rest of eternity? Hey, West Covina You know just where to find me I'll never go far, so pull up to the bar Hey, West Covina What'll it be? It's 5:55, I'm still singing The big Turkey Day game's letting out But no one's coming here Who am I kidding? Hey, you sunburned MILFs Give me a shout Everyone's going home Cause it's time to give thanks Thanks for the chain stores and outlets and banks Thanks for this town three short hours from the beach Where all of your dreams can stay just out of reach Hey, West Covina You're not listening, so what's the use? Is my purpose in life to slice limes with a knife? Or to serve Deb a vodka and cranberry juice? [Greg, talking] Hey, Deb, I'll be right with you [Greg, singing] Hey, West Covina Look what you're doing to me Can't you see, West Covina You're k**ing me, West Covina Last call, West Covina What'll it be?