So you try to play it off like you think you can by sayin' that you're full, and then your friend says "Billy, he's just bein' polite, he ain't finished, uh-uh, that's bull".
So your heart starts pumping and you think of a lie and you say that you already ate, and your friend says "Man, there's plenty of food" so you pile some more on your plate.
But while the stinky food's steaming, your mind starts to dreaming of the moment that it's time to leave, and then you look at your plate and your chicken's slowly rotting into something that looks like cheese.
Oh, so you say that's it, I got to leave Gainesville, I don't care what these people think, I'm just sitting here making myself nauseous with this ugly food that stinks.
So you bust out the door while it's still closed, still sick from the food you ate, and then you run to the store for quick relief from a bottle of Kaopectate.
And then you call your friend two weeks later to see how he has been, and he says "I understand about 'cruitin', baby bubba, but we're still friends".