give me just a second to grasp your two-bit theories as that's more than enough time i need to see through their innate queries you're telling me to shape up or ship out but i'd never shape myself for something so offending as you and your kind
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one day you sweetly sigh and say to yourself "music's my religion and i'm born again" next week your muse has got some corporate cash and all of a sudden the tunes are crap keep your politics to yourself, kid to me you're just spitting wind a windspitting punk with high-brow views a P.C. fool who's saying nothing new again and again
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what about the kids, piss-poor people and the broke or the sluts with overflowing pockets? or the cursed fucks, pointin' pistols at the pope. are they jusy martyrs fallen from your graces? (Koski/Goddard/Bonnel/Huber)
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Windspitting Punk
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| Swingin' Utters |
