Three chords, yeah, they're yours
We stole them from your bottom drawer
Sixteen strings or something
Yeah, don't listen, 'cause we stole everything
Yeah, it's true, we got it from you
Don't worry, man, there's nothing new
Stay outside
There's nothing in here that you would call alive
With your own little shoes on your own little feet
You'll never win or lose on your own little street
When you're suckin' on your thumb and it's all goin' numb
And you're looking in the mirror and you're looking so dumb
Well, don't expect my invitation to come
In your own little can where you cut out the noise
You're too busy spittin' out mouthwash
Too busy spittin' out your own voice
You keep saying, "I've got a car outside"
Well, if that's true, child, go take a ride
