The boy's got problems, the boy's got stress, the boy's got a .38 hidden in his desk.
Baby, shut up and let me drink the wine from your fur tea cup.
I'm hidden in the scream when the virgin dies, I'm the ache in the belly when your baby cries, and I'm the burning sensation when the convict fries.
My ultimate goal will be my being told in a Penthouse letter that I can frame.
I came into this life, looked all around. I saw just what I liked and took what I found.
And if I am elected, I promise the formation of a new party, a third party, a wild party.