| I was a teenage wuss
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| In junior high school, I had oily, stringy hair and lots of pimples
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| I wore really wussy clothes
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| Most of the other kids called me a faggot
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| Even some of the other wusses called me a faggot
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| There was maybe five kids in the whole school who were wussier than I was
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| I was really wussed out
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| I was afraid of girls, and guys scared the shit out of me
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| They used to say to me, «What are you, fucking queer?»
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| They wanted me to fight, to prove I wasn’t a faggot
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| But I didn’t fight, I ran away
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| I was a wuss
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| I was never into any sports at all
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| I never took showers after gym class
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| I wore my gym clothes under my regular clothes
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| So I wouldn’t have to change in front of everybody else
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| I was afraid to realize my full potential in school
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| Because, to the other kids
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| The smarter you were
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| The wussier you were
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| I was a hopeless wuss
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| Wuss, wuss, wuss
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| I was into science fiction and math and chess
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| It was not fun being a wuss, and even now
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| Now that I’m not nearly as much of a wuss as I once was
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| I still feel kind of wussy from time to time
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| Residual wussiness
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| The kind of thing you can never really leave behind
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| That’s the way it goes |