Being grown-up isn't half as fun as growing up

Honey why you callin me so late
It's kinda hard to talk right now
Honey why you cryin
Is everything ok
I gotta whisper cause I can't be too loud

Well my girls in the next room
Sometimes I wish she was you
I guess we never really moved on

It's really good to hear your voice
Sayin my name
It sounds so sweet
Comin from the lips of an angel
Hearin those words
It makes me weak

And I Dont
Never want to say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

I don't like this song. At first it was because it didn't make sense. That's my fault though; until yesterday, I've been mishearing the lyrics. I heard "girl's in" as "cousin", so the line came out as "My cousin, the next room. Sometimes I wish she was you". That doesn't make sense at all! And then I realised they might be...you know...in-cest and in each other. Now that made sense, but it all so made me creep out.

The song, fundamentally creeped me out, or made no sense to me.

And then I realised that it was "girl's in" and everything clicked; no, it didn't make me like it any more, but it just made more sense. But I still can't stand it. Maybe it's the vocalist's voice, or the band in the background. There's just something so terribly off about this song. Or maybe it's the video. God, I don't like this song, but I HATE THE VIDEO. They look horrible, and you know that part where it goes black-and-white as he recalls the past?

SO CLICHE! EEEKKKS!! SO LAMB!!! BLACK-AND-WHITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND MEMORIES OF DRIVING!!!!!! LMAO!!

I got nothing against anybody who likes this song; personally, aye dunch lyke. Go listen to "In This Diary" by The Ataris instead. This is just the opening verse; try to imagine how awesome the rest of the song is. You can't, because your imagination won't be able to compare to reality.

Here in this diary I write you visions of my summer
It was the best I ever had
There were choruses and sing alongs
And that unspoken feeling of knowing
That right now is all that matters