Moral Of The Story Lyrics
| Song | Moral Of The Story |
| Artist | Watsky |
| Album | Cardboard Castles |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| And the moral of the story is | |
| And the moral of the story is | |
| (Work!) till your arms fall off | |
| Till your abs get hard and your bone’s all soft | |
| (Just WORK!) till your hands go numb | |
| And they cramp and the fans in the stands go dumb | |
| I write till my fingers look like a bouquet of roses | |
| You gotta bring yourself your flowers now in show biz | |
| Focus it’s Quiet Coyote come on let’s go kids | |
| Everybody get together with a study buddy | |
| And then talk about the fuck that I don’t give | |
| Because it’s so big and explosive | |
| But a lotta people don’t live, they don’t ever get a motive | |
| If you got a goal you gotta hold onto what hope is | |
| If I didn’t have it I would ask you where the rope is | |
| Work is my church and so the studio’s the closest | |
| I spit it sick until my cootie flow’s the grossest | |
| Don’t be so pissed just be focused on your own shit | |
| ‘Cause we Supercalifornialisticsexyandweknowsit | |
| You’re not my biness, I go for number one, not a top five finish | |
| You can have a chicken pot pie | |
| But I’m thinking that I’m gonna have another can of Popeye’s spinach | |
| I’m Rottweiler, pop my collar when I pop my fur | |
| You’re on my nerves, but mark my words | |
| Gotta put a leg up and then mark my turf | |
| Work until I’m black and yellow black and yellow, worker bee | |
| I just work until I’m black and blue and burgundy | |
| Burgundy, work until I earn that rich mahogany | |
| Honestly, can’t you tell I’m working, bitch don’t bother me | |
| Show some modesty, if you’re watching me | |
| A bitch is anybody in my way it’s not misogyny | |
| But if yer blockin’ me I will soon defeat you | |
| I will build a above you, or I’ll tunnel underneath you | |
| I will eat you and excrete you and I’ll feed you to the flowers | |
| If I need to I’ll go through you and absorb your fucking powers | |
| I put in hour after hour let’s be crystal clear | |
| I’m gonna get there if it takes a day or fifty years | |
| I’ll fingerbang my fears, I’ll fucking punch a dragon | |
| Even with the Himalayas in my way it’s gonna happen | |
| ‘Cause waiting doesn’t work, and praying may not come through | |
| And hoping doesn’t work. So I will be the one to (work) | |
| And maybe someday you might see me in a glossy photo | |
| No weirdo’s rocked the bells as hard as me since Quasimodo |
| And the moral of the story is | |
| And the moral of the story is | |
| Work! till your arms fall off | |
| Till your abs get hard and your bone' s all soft | |
| Just WORK! till your hands go numb | |
| And they cramp and the fans in the stands go dumb | |
| I write till my fingers look like a bouquet of roses | |
| You gotta bring yourself your flowers now in show biz | |
| Focus it' s Quiet Coyote come on let' s go kids | |
| Everybody get together with a study buddy | |
| And then talk about the fuck that I don' t give | |
| Because it' s so big and explosive | |
| But a lotta people don' t live, they don' t ever get a motive | |
| If you got a goal you gotta hold onto what hope is | |
| If I didn' t have it I would ask you where the rope is | |
| Work is my church and so the studio' s the closest | |
| I spit it sick until my cootie flow' s the grossest | |
| Don' t be so pissed just be focused on your own shit | |
| ' Cause we Supercalifornialisticsexyandweknowsit | |
| You' re not my biness, I go for number one, not a top five finish | |
| You can have a chicken pot pie | |
| But I' m thinking that I' m gonna have another can of Popeye' s spinach | |
| I' m Rottweiler, pop my collar when I pop my fur | |
| You' re on my nerves, but mark my words | |
| Gotta put a leg up and then mark my turf | |
| Work until I' m black and yellow black and yellow, worker bee | |
| I just work until I' m black and blue and burgundy | |
| Burgundy, work until I earn that rich mahogany | |
| Honestly, can' t you tell I' m working, bitch don' t bother me | |
| Show some modesty, if you' re watching me | |
| A bitch is anybody in my way it' s not misogyny | |
| But if yer blockin' me I will soon defeat you | |
| I will build a above you, or I' ll tunnel underneath you | |
| I will eat you and excrete you and I' ll feed you to the flowers | |
| If I need to I' ll go through you and absorb your fucking powers | |
| I put in hour after hour let' s be crystal clear | |
| I' m gonna get there if it takes a day or fifty years | |
| I' ll fingerbang my fears, I' ll fucking punch a dragon | |
| Even with the Himalayas in my way it' s gonna happen | |
| ' Cause waiting doesn' t work, and praying may not come through | |
| And hoping doesn' t work. So I will be the one to work | |
| And maybe someday you might see me in a glossy photo | |
| No weirdo' s rocked the bells as hard as me since Quasimodo |
| And the moral of the story is | |
| And the moral of the story is | |
| Work! till your arms fall off | |
| Till your abs get hard and your bone' s all soft | |
| Just WORK! till your hands go numb | |
| And they cramp and the fans in the stands go dumb | |
| I write till my fingers look like a bouquet of roses | |
| You gotta bring yourself your flowers now in show biz | |
| Focus it' s Quiet Coyote come on let' s go kids | |
| Everybody get together with a study buddy | |
| And then talk about the fuck that I don' t give | |
| Because it' s so big and explosive | |
| But a lotta people don' t live, they don' t ever get a motive | |
| If you got a goal you gotta hold onto what hope is | |
| If I didn' t have it I would ask you where the rope is | |
| Work is my church and so the studio' s the closest | |
| I spit it sick until my cootie flow' s the grossest | |
| Don' t be so pissed just be focused on your own shit | |
| ' Cause we Supercalifornialisticsexyandweknowsit | |
| You' re not my biness, I go for number one, not a top five finish | |
| You can have a chicken pot pie | |
| But I' m thinking that I' m gonna have another can of Popeye' s spinach | |
| I' m Rottweiler, pop my collar when I pop my fur | |
| You' re on my nerves, but mark my words | |
| Gotta put a leg up and then mark my turf | |
| Work until I' m black and yellow black and yellow, worker bee | |
| I just work until I' m black and blue and burgundy | |
| Burgundy, work until I earn that rich mahogany | |
| Honestly, can' t you tell I' m working, bitch don' t bother me | |
| Show some modesty, if you' re watching me | |
| A bitch is anybody in my way it' s not misogyny | |
| But if yer blockin' me I will soon defeat you | |
| I will build a above you, or I' ll tunnel underneath you | |
| I will eat you and excrete you and I' ll feed you to the flowers | |
| If I need to I' ll go through you and absorb your fucking powers | |
| I put in hour after hour let' s be crystal clear | |
| I' m gonna get there if it takes a day or fifty years | |
| I' ll fingerbang my fears, I' ll fucking punch a dragon | |
| Even with the Himalayas in my way it' s gonna happen | |
| ' Cause waiting doesn' t work, and praying may not come through | |
| And hoping doesn' t work. So I will be the one to work | |
| And maybe someday you might see me in a glossy photo | |
| No weirdo' s rocked the bells as hard as me since Quasimodo |
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