Слова:
Youth Brigade Happy Hour

the info-mercial home shopping club. the money flows from young and old cash cash cow coming home. all style no substance. the flashy cars expensive

Call me foolish, call me stupid and naive. I've got these feelings they keep me thinking free. Some call it God, father, son, holy ghost, Krishna, Yahweh

you think you know me you don't know shit talking about me have we even met don't wanna hear another word about me from youand if i do you'll curse the

it could be late one nite or the middle of the day bone-crushing accident or the pain of slow decay can the young life fight will the old one fade away

me for why and who i am need someone to love me unconditionally baby's having baby's is a problem all i ever wanted is to be someone i know i'll be happy

Remember when you were 14 man. Thinkin' you were cool. Got your courage from a paper bag. Drink till you drool. Saved up all your launched money For

I never wanted to be wanted by you. Didn't try to lead you on. I don't feel happy, in fact I feel like shit. To think I could have done you harm. I know