Bowling race car driver, superficial hitman you're On the list at every door, you don't bowl or race fast cars Composition competition you drive Just because I don't go, to the church where you reside I might as well go for it, the nineties won't be back again Until i'm forty-eight years old I can be the hungry, as i eat my words again, appealing yet apalling rising to my falling, I'm going to extreme ends, I'm gagging on their scene [repeat chorus