Verse 1)
Woke up this morning, sun in my eyes
Another Fourth of July, no big surprise
Used to be a frenzy, a sugary rush
Now it's just a quiet, patriotic hush
Remember back when the cul-de-sac would glow?
A neighborly war, a firework show
Bottle rockets screaming, roman candles bright
Every kid a pyromaniac, lost in the night
(Chorus)
Oh, a thirty dollar sparkler, what a joke!
Back then, fifty bucks meant a smoky cloak
Of aerial bombs and fountains so grand
Now my wallet's empty, a burnt-out band
Of nostalgia, wishing for the good old days
When cheap thrills lit up all our suburban ways
This holiday feels different, a little bit cold
For the stories of fireworks that can't be told.
(Verse 2)
Dad in his cargo shorts, a lighter in hand
Lighting up fuses across the whole land
Moms on the lawn chairs, sipping iced tea
Pretending they weren't secretly loving the spree
We'd pool our allowance, save every dime
For the biggest brick of fire, just in time
For dusk to descend, the magic to start
A neighborhood symphony, tearing us apart
With explosions and colors, a vibrant display
Before the price tags just got in the way.
(Chorus)
Oh, a thirty dollar sparkler, what a joke!
Back then, fifty bucks meant a smoky cloak
Of aerial bombs and fountains so grand
Now my wallet's empty, a burnt-out band
Of nostalgia, wishing for the good old days
When cheap thrills lit up all our suburban ways
This holiday feels different, a little bit cold
For the stories of fireworks that can't be told.
(Bridge)
Now it's online orders, delivery fees
No more corner stands, no more pleas
To the guy with the trench coat, a shady back room
Just sterile transactions, dispelling the gloom
Of a childhood dream, a smoky-sweet haze
Replaced by permits and regulatory phase
Of safety warnings and tiny little pops
While my inner kid just silently weeps and drops.
(Guitar Solo - Upbeat, melodic, and slightly angsty, typical of pop-punk)
(Chorus)
Oh, a thirty dollar sparkler, what a joke!
Back then, fifty bucks meant a smoky cloak
Of aerial bombs and fountains so grand
Now my wallet's empty, a burnt-out band
Of nostalgia, wishing for the good old days
When cheap thrills lit up all our suburban ways
This holiday feels different, a little bit cold
For the stories of fireworks that can't be told.
(Outro)
Yeah, a thirty dollar sparkler, what a ripoff, man!
Guess I'll just watch the city show, if I can
Afford the gas to get there, and the parking too
Another Fourth of July, feeling kinda blue.