Poor little sullen boy, Too old to play with his sullen toys, Everyone thinks you're harmless, Treating you sick and senseless. Poor kid always took jokes, Stabs more than they are pokes, Can't look anymore in the mirror, Can't stand to see and hear the horror. Get the knife that uncle brought home, Cut that horible stomach-dome, Cut a smile on my pale lips, Let blood drip on my fingertips. Feel still that I am not offended Realize too late to have me tormented; Laugh at me with all your ideals Don't see me cry with my ordeals. Get the knife that uncle brought home, Cut that horrible stomach-dome, Now see in me that perfection is pain, Now see in me that acceptance is vain.
Fat. Lump. Good-for-nothing. Get a grip! You'll never slim! Haha you're so fat! Why are you so big? You're bigger than before! Haha your clothes don't fit! Fat. Lump. Good-for-nothing. Get a grip! You'll never slim! Haha you're so fat! Why are you so big? You're bigger than before! Haha your clothes don't fit! Fat. Lump. Good-for-nothing. Get a grip! You'll never slim! Haha you're so fat! Why are you so big? You're bigger than before! Haha your clothes don't fit! Fat. Lump. Good-for-nothing. Get a grip! You'll never slim! Haha you're so fat! Why are you so big? You're bigger than before! Haha your clothes don't fit! Fat. Lump. Good-for-nothing. Get a grip! You'll never slim! Haha you're so fat! Why are you so big? You're bigger than before! Haha your clothes don't fit!