I'm a hyper-sonic day dreamer Like your burnt out culture
Like your world out of control
Now I'm locked in a stranglehold
Like the aging of my face Crowned in hatred's glory
Put the money where your mouth is So I can shove it down your throat Like a hot shot made of plastic
The ticket to the white house Is not a blow job for the poor The rich man gets a suck off 'Cause the president's his whore
This generation descends as witches As your tomorrow's burning This generation lies dead before me