Picked on, picked last, Can't forget, bottom of the class But so cynical and typical, I judged them, before they judged me I guess I smelled bad, I didn't care, My school was empty, I wasn't there Smiles were imitation like every grade, Intelligence had nothing to do with what I made Yo hot breath, you need some tic-tacs, Industrial strength, make sure it lasts The stereo never stopped, I'd sleep and listen, Albums played for weeks and that was the mission I would soak up every band's album,
Maybe one day it'd rub off on me I'd start a band, write amazing songs, We'd tour till the sun caved in I'd finally meet one of my goals, I'd finally be good at something Yo hot breath, you need some tic-tacs, Industrial strength, make sure it lasts My roots are buried beneath ten years of concrete And that's where they think they should be That's where they think they should beTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
