New York, New York, I won't go back. Indelible reminder of the steel I lack. I gave you seven years what did you give me back?. A jaw-grind disposition to a panic attack.
Everything is going up. Everything is going as planned, yeah. Everything moves along. Everything is fine, fine, fine. . Well I could be condemned to Hell for every sin, but littering.
Slipping through the wrong plug, slap the rotor. To the beat, yeah, stitching to till, the pin breaks. Gotcha down onto the flat line, clap the matter.
Rachel's on the phone. Talking to her mom. Just to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. . Rachel's on the couch. Suckin' on the bong. Just so she can call her Mom.