The girls won't touch me cause I got a misdirection,
and livin at night isn't helpin my complexion.
The signs all say it's a social infection.
A little bit of fun's never been an insurrection.

Mom threw me out til I get some pants that fit.
She just don't approve of my strange kind of wit.
I get so excited I always gotta lose it,
then they pack me off & make me take the cure.
I don't need a cure,
don't need a cure.
Don't need a cure,
need a final solution.

Buy me a ticket to a sonic reduction -
guitars gonna sound like a nuclear destruction.
It seems I'm the victim of natural selection,
or maybe just another slide in another direction.
I don't need a cure,
don't need a cure.
Don't need a cure,
need a final solution.

Solution!