| With a wink and a nod look we’re all giving favors!
|
| There’s four pale pinked boys in an accountants hand
|
| Examples must be made! |
| Discipline it must be maintained!
|
| See, we’re all a little mad in here
|
| what a joy it is to kill all my hunger in
|
| three minutes and thirty seconds
|
| cause at the top of the world we’re all just a bottom line
|
| someone’s been shook red-handed!
|
| Dead stage center at the shit-grin parade
|
| beware! |
| beware!
|
| beware of an aging pack of men who think like cats
|
| wow! |
| ain’t it grand to be part of the future?!
|
| A pox on ye phony kings
|
| and all night while you slumber you’ll dream of electric sheep
|
| For we may perish at the hands we must shake
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| Our bodies longing for the aches to escape
|
| and the filth they’ll accept is the filth
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| that I’m dragging my belly through
|
| cause we’re being drowned out in our own fucking sound
|
| now the teenage brigade has opinions
|
| and I can’t get respect cause I’m not at the bar
|
| now the teenage brigade has opinions
|
| when I’m weak it is bleak and they’re all capping me
|
| with their cold metal clutch on us tightly
|
| so get hip to recouping with youth at the bottom of a rabbit’s hole! |