We ain't going to the party. We ain't going to the game. We ain't going to the disco. Ain't gonna cruise down main. . We're stealing people's mail. Stealing people's mail, stealing people's mail.
Finally got to Washington in the middle of the night. I couldn't wait. I headed straight for the Capitol Mall. . My heart began to pound. Yahoo! It really exists.
We're sorry. But you're no longer needed. Or wanted or even cared about here. Machines can do a better job than you. And this is what you get for asking questions.
Forget the light, skate and destroy. Pass the jogger, skate and destroy. Snap it back, skate and destroy. Kick that bike, skate and destroy. It's not a cause or political belief, it's something in my thinking.
If only people could shrink. Our world wouldn't be so overcrowded. Bring ourselves down to size. There'd be so much more food to go 'round. . Why don't we build a machine.
"Rick Wakeman, eat your heart out. Here we go!". . I like short songs. I like short songs. I like short songs. . I like short songs. I like short songs.
There's a prefab building and a funny smell. Around the hill outside of town. Every now and then we wonder. But we shrug our shoulders. And get back to work....
Rioting—the unbeatable high. Adrenalin shoots your nerves to the sky. Everyone knows this town is gonna blow. And it's all gonna blow right now..... .
All religions make me wanna throw up. All religions make me sick. All religions make me wanna throw up. All religions suck. . They all claim that they have the truth.
Got a deadly toy. To brainwash your boy. . An egocentric muscle thug. Kicks butt on screen like a brat outa hell. Bullshitter in the Indochina shop. Pull the string in his back, we win the war.
God damn, well let's do a tune called "Rawhide," okay. God damn tape's rollin', let's go. . Let's move 'em out. 1, 2, 3, 4. . Rollin' rollin' rollin'.
I'm tired of self respect. I can't afford a car. I wanna be a prefab superstar. . I wanna be a tool. Don't need no soul. Wanna make big money. Playing rock and roll.
Tonight's the night that we got the truck. We're goin' downtown, gonna beat up drunks. Your turn to drive, I'll bring the beer. It's the late, late shift, no one to fear.
Ray's guitar broke. No, we won't play Rawhide, won't play anything. We'll play the theme from the Dinah Shore show. Who wants to be Dinah Shore? Who's alter-ego is Dinah Shore? Oh, his fists didn't go up so quickly this time. Yawn... yawn.yawn. Put those headphones on, it's be-bop time..
Countdown!. Get ready for the Blast Off!. And don't forget the Hype!. We're going into space.. . Distinguished scientists. A pesky senator. And monkey turds leaking from the lab.
{It's 'Fuck Off' over produced by Martin Hanet, take four}. . {Two, three, four}. . Punk ain't no religious cult. Punk means thinkin' for yourself. You ain't hardcore 'cause you spike your hair.
You call yourself the Moral Majority. We call ourselves the people in the real world. Trying to rub us out, but we're going to survive. God must be dead if you're alive.
The crowded future stings my eyes. I still find time to exercise. In uniform with two white stripes. . Unlock my section of the sand. It's fenced off to the water's edge.
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Name one thing on earth lower than a tough guy. Who talks with his fists instead of using his head. Who beats the shit out of anything it can't understand.