Parading to the masses We're coming so fresh to death I've been stealing looks from shadows You conjure with your purse Yeah you're walking in stilettos But your nose is bleeding out I've been running from the devil But the devil's on my back I'm decreasing Took a leave of absence from the war If the wall is coming down Then we've got to press the pedal Got my hands up in the air I'm saying I can't breathe I got my hands up in the air I'm saying Hey man get away from me Yeah, hey man get away from me Ah, yeah, ah, ah, ah, ah Never asked for any favors Nothing I want from you Well I've been looking for an answer To keep me from falling through And I'm waiting for the voice to speak 'Cause I can't see I hope we'll hear the sound eventually I felt their claws obstructing refuse Refugees and the new run Lock our voices in the oven Like Sylvia at home My eyes are on the world Yeah, my hands anxious To feel something real True colors tend to glisten And then reveal Where's the love? Hm And why are we so far from love? Chased by badgers, ducking lights Push the dagger when it's right Martial law, inshallah Mi casa es tuya Ghosting like I'm Daniel Johnston And I'm locked up in the basement Where Satan lies in satin tweets And realigns his face lift The criminals are laughing with Their empty, toothless faces We've melted all our gold To recommence our idol worship We all pretend one day We'll be the greatest of the Gatsby's Growling mouths with rabies And loyal like Sid & Nancy (Nancy, Nancy, Nancy, Nancy) Hey man get away from me You pretend you got control (trol, trol, trol, trol, trol, trol) (Ha, ha) Hey man get away from me I never asked for any favors Nothing I want from you I've been praying for an answer To keep me from falling through, yeah Yeah, I'm waiting for the voice to speak Because I can't see Oh, we'll hear the sound eventually, yeah We'll hear the sound, oh We'll hear the sound eventually

I'm not here to entertain you I'm here to meet my friend the Russian The Irish, the German, the Columbian I don't care how bad I fuck up I care about how fucked up I get I'm not your clown I'm your dealer And I'm holding three bindles of bullshit And you're buyin' them 'cause you are addicted To the pure and totally uncut I'm not here to amuse you I'm here to abuse my body I'm here because old habits die hard And seriously, what else am I supposed to do? This isn't my job, my hobby, my habit It's sad, but this is my life Welcome to our mission statement Total self-debasement And not giving our all Watch us Fall! It's not that we don't pull it It's just that we only give about 60 or so percent Would you rather be fed bullshit From some 20-something, makeup wearing, popstar "This one goes out to all our fans all over the world Without you, we'd just be us. So, I just wanna say thank you! We fuckin' love you, Modesto!" Fuck you! And you're takin' it easy before the show So you won't lose your voice And disappoint your fans routine And you don't care about the children You don't even know them All you know is their money

I'm not insane I'm not bummed out I got no one to blame Nothing to change I got no evil to fight One thing's for sure I'm all outta angst Society don't bother me And there's something wrong with that I'm off to Pakistan Learn the laws of Islam Fundamentalism Forget that rock 'n' roll No cigarette, no drink In fact, It's difficult to think about getting laid When you don't even get to see her face I'm not insane I'm not insane I'm not liquored up I got nothin' to do, nothin' to lose I got no place to call home One thing's for sure I'm all outta angst Society don't bother me, and there's something wrong with that Next step Mongolia Don't get to golf or fuck or bowl with 'ya Throw out that handicap No stepping out, till spring In fact it's difficult to sing when it's 20 below And that's during the day I'm not insane

'There's something wrong with the kids in my neighbourhood They always listen to mom They disregard civil disobedience They'd rather do what they're told They don't drink, or fuck, or fight They sit home, and read, expand their minds There's something wrong with the kinds in my cul de sac Their always goin to church They dress well and they're Speaking articulate They show each other respect They're never late, don't smoke Or break rules They eat right, study hard They like school There's something wrong with the kids in my neighbourhood'

Possessions never meant anything to me I'm not crazy Well that's not true, I've got a bed And a guitar, and a dog named Bob who pisses on my floor That's right, I've got a floor So what? So what? So what? I've got pockets full of Kleenex and lint and holes Where everything important to me Just seems to fall right down my leg And onto the floor My closest friend linoleum Linoleum Supports my head Gives me something to believe That's me on the beachside, combin' the sand Metal meter in my hand Sportin' a pocket full of change That's me in the street with a violin under my chin Playin' with a grin Singin' gibberish That's me on the back of the bus That's me in the cell That's me inside your head That's me inside your head That's me inside your head

It's 3 o'clock at the Triple Rock, another round of watching Paddy talk It's where you wanna get snowed in when you get Snowed in, outside it's 10 below, is it day or night, we don't care or know What we know is that we don't wanna be Anywhere but here, please don't make us leave When in Minnesota and you got a drinking quota I'm seeing double at the Triple Rock, we're still here watching Paddy talk Then undress, then get out the duct tape The one question still remains, how much more art can we take? I'll let you know when the medication wears off I'm a religious drunk and this is where I pray The church of alcoholics can't break up the congregation Give us air to breathe, through carbonation We are at liquor church, genuflecting on barstools We're praying that the taps will keep the holy water flowing Key kicks of communion, then a long night of confessions Coming home afternoon seems to raise a lot of questions When in Minnesota and you got a drinking quota

We're the band with our own label That's money under the table, that's answering to no one But still, other bands just love to hate us Talking shit behind us, but smiling to our face That's OK, it's not that they don't like us They're just a little jealous, cause We're having more fun (The band that wouldn't die) We're the self-crowned kings of candor, sultans of slander Bastions of D.I.Y Which means we make more money, we've got better prescriptions We own most of our own music, no one's got their hands in our pockets We don't have management, we get to play loaded And only 3 months a year Some years we just take off, vacations are a write off And so is goin' out (fuck us) I suppose that's how we'll go out Played out and way after our time