The Target

Somewhere, out past nowhere

I was born in the middle of an air raid

Since i hit the dirt, i was on the run

The son of a gun and a switchblade

Got my uzi lying on my bed stand

I made napalm in my sink

Pipe-bomb in my pants pocket

I just put cyanide in your drink

Mic stand's always at my side

Jack-knife in my boot

Fully automatic machine-gun

Is loaded and ready to shoot

I strayed off the beaten path

Now there's no place to hide

My sadness and my wrath

Contemplated suicide

Somewhere, out past nowhere

I lost my way

No money to pay my fare

The driver drove away

I remember sunny winter sundays spent

Shooting at the sun with my bb-gun

Thinking, "this is the way that life should be

Some birds, some bbs, my gun and me."

But that isn't the way that life should be

This is the way that life should be

Guitars, drums, a mic and me

The band, some roadies, electricity

Blasting forth with a million watts of power

The weak get sick and the timid all cower

'cause we're like a gun and we're taking aim

Out music's the bullet, the target is your brain

The guitar, like a laser, cuts through your head

You drop to your knees and wish you were dead

Than i grab the mic and i start to shout

Your ear-drums burst and your brains drain out

When the bass kicks in, your bones are crushed

Your eyes roll back as you get a rush

Then the drums pound you right into the floor

Now you're rotten to the core