Thirty dollar Sparkler

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.