I reside in 209, you're in 208. You moved in last Friday night. And I just couldn't wait. So I tried to call across the hall to ask you out someday. But a lineup formed outside your door.
Uncle Sam taught him to shoot. Maybe a little too well. Finger on the trigger, loaded bullet. He hit the stage so full of rage. And let the whole world know it.
I judge by what she's wearing. Just how many heads I'm tearing. Off of assholes keep coming on to her. Each night seems like it's getting worse. And I wish she'd take the night off.
Well, you can dig me up a grave. And try and stick me in the ground. Well, you can tie me to the bed. And try and beat me half to death. But you can never keep me down.
Well, I wanted you. I wanted no one else. I thought it through. I got you to myself. You got off. Every time you got onto me. I got caught up. In favorable slavery.