Two, three, four!. . You say you don't like my kind. I fit a picture in your mind. No it don't matter what I say. I hear ya bitchin' when I walk away.
Here we stand, caught between the cradle and the grave. In a world that gives you nothing but your name. With every step you take you must be brave. Nothing lost is nothing gained.
I read the paper just the other day. About a buddy of mine who headed to an early grave. They say he went in his sleep with a smile on his face. Bet he was dreaming 'bout better days.