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She was a playground princess |
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Back when we used to dream |
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I was a swingset assassin |
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Full of juvenile schemes |
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With these clothes picked by my mother |
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Handed down from my big brother |
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And I'll keep my hands folded |
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'til the day I turn thirteen |
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And we listened to the Beatles |
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Cause that's what's you're told |
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When you're young and empty |
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And you hadn't got a clue |
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The White Album from my mother |
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Rubber Soul from my big brother |
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And don't you question Mr. Lennon boy |
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'Cause he gave his life for you |
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And I cut my hair and I dyed it black |
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While everyone was gettin' stoned |
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And I wrapped myself up in Black Flag |
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And flew it as my own |
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And my poor worried mother |
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With the phone calls to my brother |
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But in the end punk rock |
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Just leaves us empty and alone |
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So now I'm fear and loathing |
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On a Sunday afternoon |
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I drink enough to be Catholic |
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But the morning comes too soon |
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With the phone call from my mother |
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And the advice from my big brother |
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That Jesus is just another word |
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For nothing left to lose |
