| I steal the notes from other bands
|
| I fill their shoes with wet cement
|
| I make you think of certain things
|
| And when you talk the things you’ll say
|
| I’m pretty sure of what you want
|
| I bet you want the same as me
|
| You want to think of something smart
|
| Something someone would repeat
|
| But I’m giving up on all that fuss
|
| I’m gonna tell you how it is
|
| Then, when you get your turn to talk
|
| I hope your microphone is off
|
| And the critics go, «Whoa…yeah…yeah…»
|
| They’ll go, «Whoa…yeah…shotgun…»
|
| But, for now just watch the screen
|
| Let me control the things you think
|
| You’d like to think you could resist
|
| But you’re being hypnotised by this
|
| Think of the clock you thought up
|
| How it’s wagging back and forth
|
| How you’re hypnotised by us
|
| Are you studying my pores?
|
| When my hand snaps you’ll wake up
|
| To your daily concerns
|
| I’m counting backwards in your head
|
| You’re letting me do all the work
|
| You’re under my thumb, yeah, yeah
|
| (snap)
|
| You’re under my thumb, yeah
|
| How 'bout that, boys? |