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Rich, dumb, white kid think that he's everything.
Loud mouth, boldheaded geek's got a song to sing.
Turn him inside out on the kitchen floor.
Soon find out that he doesn't wanna sing no more.

As always, the same affair
but who really cares for God's creations,
his amputations.

The tight-assed mum and dad got a lot to say.
They stick their nose into every game we play.
Turn them inside out on the kitchen floor
and soon find out daddy doesn't have a clue no more.

As always the same affair
but who really cares for God's creations,
his reputations.
Likely to fall thru air
and sometimes it's fair,
God's creations,
his amputations.

Down, down in the basement of our cares
there's always a phony, count the stairs.
Like, like us as something as we come
and like, like us as rumpus we run.

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