David Gans
You’d best be glad this guitar ain’t a weapon
I’d strum your lyin’ ass on up to Heaven
But you’d not get in
Takin lessons from that thug
Shakin’ hippies down for drugs
And drinking from that jug
Of stolen liquor
I’ve been runnin’ with a crowd of rowdy rascals
A rootin’ tootin’ band of Eddie Haskells
That bet of Pascal’s
You know it’s not for me
My eyes have yet to see
A scrap of proof that he
Believes in humans
I thought it was a hole that needed fillin’
To you it was a a plan that needed killin’
Supervillain
So you’ve cast me in your flick
You’d make a dead man sick
As if you had been kicked
As much as I have
And after all this storm and drain
You come by to pick my brain
To see what keeps me sane
So you can steal it
I overheard your mumbled malediction
My truth is even stranger than your fiction
This grave addiction
I came for truth and fun,
But I see those days are done
I’m not the only one
Who saw it coming
I thought that you and I would be like brothers
Instead we just keep dissin’ one another
You sorry mutha
After all the tears we’ve cried
Since our broken angel died
These acts of fratricide
Are so offensive
So go tell your kleptocrat
That he ain’t no diplomat
If everybody’s fat
Then what’s the skinny?