| I-I don’t… I don’t know what I’m gonna do anymore…
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| I’m gonna kill… them
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| I’m 15, my name’s Johnny, they say that I’m a sociopath
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| Cuz I kill squirrels and birds for a hobby
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| I build backyard bombs, I can teach ya
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| Aluminum foil and hydrochloric acid from toilet bowl cleaner
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| Basically girls don’t date me, teachers hate me
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| I’m a pimpled faced loser, been picked on since grade 3
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| Called enough names, makin' chump change, my blood rains
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| I wanna punch brains, I wanna cut veins and blow up planes
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| My sister, she’s a known whore, I hate my family
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| My dad is a cop, that fat pig just don’t understand me
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| Fuck all the slutty loose hoes and cyber bullies and rube trolls
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| And rich kids in school makin' fun of my school clothes
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| Cryin' inside, dyin' inside and my mind is torture
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| I been diagnosed with more than just an anxiety disorder
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| Every dream I have shattered, everything dramatic, traumatic
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| The pain tragic, I wanna be dead, I wanna lay in traffic
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| Is my brain damaged? |
| I was raised catholic
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| I prayed in the cathedral of St. Patrick but I’m hated in my age bracket
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| The kids in the school call me a gay faggot
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| Mental, I’m deadly, I’m ready
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| I’ma make 'em remember my name and they won’t ever forget me
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| Johnny
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| I’m-I'm-I'm 15
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| I wanna be somebody
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| My name’s Johnny
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| They’ll remember me
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| My mother love me, she’s the only one that didn’t judge me
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| I pledge allegiance to my dick, I hate this fuckin' country
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| They can die and kiss my dick, piss on the flag, spit on a fag
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| Fuck any bitch pig with a badge, I’m pissed like a bitch on the rag
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| I head to a gun-free zone, an ice cream parlor
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| They’ll put me on Rolling Stone covers like the Boston bomber
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| Looks like a Norman Rockwell, All-American, nice scene
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| I walk in and see kids with their parents, eatin' ice cream
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| Innocent children smilin', I can’t stand 'em like roaches
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| I got a semi-auto handgun and a bag of explosives
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| Sweat drippin', I’m shakin', the trigger, fuck it, I touch it
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| The gun goes off, I hit a 6-year-old boy in his stomach
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| He’s crying, his mother’s screamin', she and the little baby on the floor
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| bleedin', ain’t nobody leavin', it’s time to get even
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| I start shooting, blood splatters on the curtain fabric
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| I feel like I’m high on acid
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| As the gunpowder explodes in slow mo, the gun flashes
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| I’m blackin' out, I see children fallin' and blood splashes
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| Blood on my eyeglasses, die bastards!
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| Gun, cock it, I’m steppin' in my own vomit
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| I can’t believe I’m doin' this, it’s too late, I’m all-in, I can’t stop it
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| A disgrace livin', I’m hate-driven, I see a little girl dyin' on the floor
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| And a boy with his face missin'
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| I keep firin', a pregnant mother gets hit, customers trippin'
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| Over bodies runnin' towards the doors of the exit
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| I hear police sirens, I see the cops surrounded me
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| I notice a hole in my chest and blood flowin' outta me
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| Vision blurry, I’m frozen, bullets in my body explodin'
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| Blood and sweat soakin', feces and urine in my clothing
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| Bullet flies through my cheek, a bullet hit my neck, my neck broken
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| Vomit coming from my mouth, I’m spitting up blood, chokin'
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| I see flowers growin', I feel like I’m floatin'
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| I see my casket closin' and hear the voices of tortured souls moanin'
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| Like this
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| I’m 15
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| My name’s Johnny
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| I’ll make 'em remember my name
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| The message: Cause some bodily harmin'
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| And become a master of murder and arson
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| And you could be the media’s personal darlin'
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| They call blacks, thugs, and Muslims terrorists
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| But I’m white, so they say I could’ve been cured by medication and therapists
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| They blame Facebook, blame video games, they blame the pain
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| They blame the gun owners, they blame the bullies
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| It’s a blame game
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| Blame the opposing politician’s policies, but wait a minute
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| They blame parents, everybody but me
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| I’m the one that did it
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| The conspiracy theorists and every Alex Jones fan
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| Is claimin' I was part of a CIA mind control program
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| I got what I wanted, attention, fame, I’m on TV
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| No one cares about the names of the victims or their family
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| I’m the super star, the ratings booster, I’m media friendly
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| And all the glorification is helpin' to create the next me |