**** the good stuff
Let's talk about the bad stuff
In the end it's all fury and cotton…
There's a spider-web in my palm
The center is a smiley-face
With X'es for eyes
And I feel my tongue
Becoming numb and salty
Maybe potassium
And who are you
With your glasses
And your street smarts
I'm quite ok with being
Unimpressive an ignorant
To your standards
A mafia with some ****** mixed in
That's how you're perceived by me
No code, no guts, no loyalty
And you talk, and I listen
I even engage you, polite as I am
I don't bet, but I'd gamble
You have a barcode on your soul
And if I could explain, I bet you'd listen
A set of letters on your payroll
And your set of ways
Is equivalent to
Mistreatment of an animal
But your tactics and lack of tact
Suggest treatment of an alien
An I bet on the movies
You're not sheep, just orphans
Begging for a leader
A rite of passage
And here goes my empathy
Imaginary places and genes
And I don't bet, but I'd gamble
You have a barcode on your soul
And hell yes, I'm in it right now
**** the good stuff
Let's talk about the bad stuff
In the end it's all fury and cotton