Grew up in the cold
But always told
I'd be a scorcher
If life's insignificant
Then so's my psychological torture
I'm either a genius or a madman
And I probably teeter on that border
So in a few years they'll say honey clock
is a psychological disorder
So what if they knew the truth
And watch my hope
Get gutted in my youth
So now we get high
And gulp down whiskey in vermouth
Staying real but aloof
Because nowadays it's the only way
to stay bulletproof
So now it's my rein of terror
As I stand in this hail of gun fire
Bombs away But first read this flier Telling you to go get a brand new tire
From Fred Meyer
And go after everything that you desire