So I was bitching alittle tonight
It was midnight
I was bored and nothing really felt right
But have I ever really felt alright?
Do I like staying up all night?
Cause I was all stuffed up
I mean artistically...
Statistically....What does make up for
These words keep flowing
Like a freakin busted barrel
And the TV is showing
A black guy named Darrell
And the assholes are yelling at the assholes
And the Dick-heads are yelling at the dick-heads
And every run of the mill
F-ing king of the hill
Will never get rid of his big head
Because though there is Impossible...Improbable...Intolerable
Even when dead we're we can still be dis honorable
There is no counfounded Boundry
Or unthinkable imaginary quandry
Holding on to your gentials
Or should I say "little general"?
And he has no patience
Craving his invasion
And he'll order you around all night...
Past feeling right...
Past the artistic...statistic...
Of being alright.
Past a president
Past a lifetime
Of being a resident
Past your attack
Past my counter attack
Why would you...just assume
I'd never strike back
Cause now the clock will never stop ticking
Who start to ponder? Who invented thinking
I dont think I can stop or find the breaks
Cause Im can find anything to do or make
And its past midnight
and I stilll dont feel alright