I sat indian style on the ground and sighed...
"Yeah, here we go for the hundredth time
Hand grenade pins in every line
Throw 'em up and let something shine
Goin' out of my **censor**' mind.
Filthy mouth, no excuse,
Find a new place to hang this noose.
String me up from atop these roofs,
Knot it tight so I won't get loose.
Truth is, you can stop and stare,
Bled myself out and no one cares.
Dug the trench out, laid down there,
With the shovel up out of reach somewhere.
Yeah, someone pour it in.
Make a dirt dance floor again.
Say your prayers and stomp it out,
When they bring that chorus in."