And I don't know how the hell
Gettin' loaded like a gun
I wish I walked through life
I played to pay the price
It was all about graffiti
Gettin' arrested callin' home
With those late night calls
Sorry mom I'm in jail again
You can either pick me up
Or you can send me some mint
Either way mom it looks like
Flickin' off the principal
Its hard for mom to believe me
Shoplifting gifts for the girls
Like you wouldn't believe
At sixteen started gettin' tattoos
Takin' part in dirty deeds
So if you want to get high
And if you want to get 'em up
I've been to y.a. three times
And while you bragged to your parents
I was underneath the bleechers
With a t.h.c, a g.e.d, a chemical dependancy
And a p.h.d in whiskey and stoner-ology
In ways to use technology
And you can learn from my mistakes
But its more fun to follow me
I don't hate who I've become
So that smokin' at the one
And we remember when we were young