| All the drugs make you stupid
|
| Paranoid and ruthless
|
| But now you’re finally clean
|
| You’ve been strip-searched and rung up
|
| Like lights that were strung up
|
| The drugs who’ve got nothing on me
|
| And you say, stupid I was
|
| And stupid I’ll be
|
| Waiting for my beating to come
|
| It’s going to be a scorcher
|
| About a hundred degrees
|
| It’s burning up your luck it seems
|
| You take creamer in your coffee
|
| At the end of the counter
|
| The free refills keep coming
|
| And the parody of prophets lie
|
| Not to save you
|
| You struck out so you strike them down
|
| And you say, stupid I was
|
| And stupid I’ll be
|
| Waiting for my beating to come
|
| And you say la, la, la la, la, la la, la, la
|
| But the drugs have got nothing on me
|
| Hiding out in dens
|
| Smoking cigarettes
|
| Playing with the wedding band
|
| You’re still losing your mind
|
| It’s not something that you’ll find
|
| In your pocket or on the courthouse steps
|
| And you say, stupid I was
|
| And stupid I’ll be
|
| Waiting for my beating to come
|
| And you say, stupid I was
|
| And stupid I’ll be
|
| But the drugs have got nothing on me
|
| La la la la, la la la la
|
| But the drugs have got nothing on me
|
| But the drugs have got nothing on me |