Слова:
Clit 45 Tales From The Clit

Every fucking day this shit seems more the same Every thing around me makes me wanna bow my head in shame Going through the motions, I can feel I'm withering

Punk was meant to open your mind Not to form cliques and stereotypes Shaved head, spiked hair we look for any difference To undermine, confine, and deplete

Kickin it with your friends and a 40 oz. Always have fun that was no doubt Now you've moved along and you've got a new trend Criticizing all our ways

you in a factory That's right where they want you to be Sweating and struggling for minimum wage No pride at all no more than a slave Maybe your a kid from