I'm a strapped-in loner, I was heedin' that shame
You never shake my hand, you never know my name
A crackhouse cooling, just chewin' the floor
I pass out cold and I go look for some more
I got all kinds of devices I'm gonna detonate

Got a .45 magazine, rag of gasoline
Phone booth, gold tooth, a pigeon wing
Got bazookas, hand grenades
Firebomb weddings, spray down parades

I used to work in an office in the outskirts of town
Routine, the grindstone grinding me down
So I picked up a filing cabinet and threw it at my boss
And then I took him outside and hung him on a cross
Then I kept walking on down the road

Oh yeah

Well fourteen uzis later and a bottle of rum
A cigarette lighter and a live chicken
Got in all kinds of mischief
Some kinds I won't tell, I did all kinds of things

Well I went into the Peekaboo Hut
To watch the lady have sex with a mutt
And then, uh, then I, then I,
I had a demolition derby with some shopping carts
And I killed every pop star in the top-twenty charts
I like to hijack people
I like to jump through movie screens at the best part
I was reading that hardcore magazine
101 Erotic Things To Do With Bologna
Then I went home and I painted the tv screen
On the old black and white TV
And I painted a picture on it
And I watched it all night long

I ate a live dog and I buried his bone
Then I carved out a tombstone
I got shell-casings in the freezer
A money belt in the drawer
I stole some blank checks
And I used them down at the comic book store
I read a lot of comic books