Butt F**k

I'm laying up in my room with a gun and a cigarette and a band that really rocked

And we're drinking some beer and smoking blunts and I said

Hey, I got a new car, it's a '72 pantera, you want to go for a ride?

And we're going down the highway at about ninety miles

An hour in a fifty-five mile an hour zone

Going totally over the speed limit

And all of a sudden this really sharp turn comes up

And this other car's coming and we crash

You think you're really famous

You think that you're a star

You think that selling millions

Buy yourself a car

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You think that you're real tough

You take them for a cruise

You smash it up and kill someone

And now you're paying dues

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You know, we're probably gonna get a whole lot

Of slag for putting a blues part on a thrash album

(But we don't give a fuck)

But I mean, as far as I'm concerned, anyone

Who gives us a hard time can go fuck off

(Right)

'Cause after all, we're musicians and we can do whatever we want

(That's the shit, baby)

You don't have to listen if you don't want to hear it

(You know, guy's got a point)

(Word)

You know, for a lot of people who criticize

Our shit who've never gone into the recording studio

It probably sounds real easy to go in and do an album

But fuck, you try going to los angeles, going into

Nice weather from the middle of winter in new york

Twenty thousand dollars back, a foreign city where everybody's fucking queer

Where the cars stop for pedestrians, it's fucking bizarre

(Just go up and cross at the corner)

And you try to stay under budget while you're doing it

You're razzle's grim reaper

You steal your license plate

Attorney gave you up

And you plead your case

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You didn't really matter

You really have to fight

When you get to the altar

You pay your little tithe

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Butt fuck

I don't know, it needs something

That's it