| I’m not sorry
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| I’ve been drinking, I’ve been smoking, I’m not thinkin' about tomorrow
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| Pass the bottle, I’m in trouble
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| Okay I know, but I’m not sorry
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| No I’m not sorry, I said I’m not sorry
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| No I’m not sorry
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| So pass me that liquor
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| Been a long day, girl I need a pick up
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| Too drunk to drive, send a cab to come and get us
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| Woke up wearing two different shoes like a kicker
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| So take me back to SoHo, 3rd street and Bowery
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| But I don’t really know though
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| Sorry I’m not sorry
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| Cause I can’t go home yet
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| My credit card’s at the bar and I don’t know where my phone’s at
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| Yeah, alright, we be gettin' reckless, drunk textin', up late, fuck breakfast
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| And don’t it feel good not carin' about shit
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| But I know tomorrow they gon' hear about this
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| And we stumblin' home
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| You can tell me that it’s wrong but I know
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| I just wanna be me, not the people on the radio or the tv
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| Same kid that made his first song back in D. C
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| And never lost sight of all that, word to Stevie
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| Now everything is blurry, vision used to be 20/20, Katie Couric
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| Now it’s not though
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| Cause I’m faded on that whiskey and got all my homies with me
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| Everybody getting trippy, turn up
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| And don’t it feel good not carin' about shit
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| But I know tomorrow we gon' hear about this, nd we stumblin' home
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| You can tell me that it’s wrong, yeah I know but —
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| So turn up
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| Hit the bar, kill the scene, I call that murder, now word up
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| So bring another round bartender
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| Cause all the best nights are the ones we can’t remember
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| Ones we can’t remember
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| Cause all the best nights are the ones we can’t remember |