lyrics
Ain't nothing sweet kid, ain't nothing pretty
Though it's pretty sweet the way I block bullets with a bike chain
Dumb punks get nun-chucked
When I'm fucked up on Night Train
Those fakes in Alexandria, drowning in denial
No breaks from the 9 to 5 we find 'em on the vinyl
At the thrift shop, independent, dig lots
You exit thru the gift shop, bank seized, no souvenirs
Tick tock, my crew is here
Even if not, leave lit WALK-ways and vacate green rooms ablaze
Stomping like wah pedals, drop crowds like hot metal
Opposite of Dimebag Darrel
Such a rebel cause
Except me
We don't burn like books, we burn like CDs
Replicate throughout your state and all over the city
You a high on swag so burnt out skinny jeans low sperm count never work out type
I don't mean like fitness more like witness the way
I murder you live- ...they gotta blur it out like
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