It’s not like we did something wrong. We just burned down the church while the choir within sang religious songs.
Is everybody that depressed? It’s a depressing feeling to me. You know: “I lost my baby.” I don’t care if you lost your baby, I care if you’re feeling OK. Don’t tell me your problem – tell me what good’s been happening to you.
I’m hidden in the scream when the virgin dies, I’m the ache in the belly when your baby cries, and I’m the burning sensation when the convict fries.
I don’t know, but I’ve been told, the streets of hell are paved with gold.
Stick a needle in your arm, you bite the dust, you buy the farm.
Give me lace and whiskey, Mama’s own remedy.
Do you feel your best when your strung out on your morphine and meth?
I got a muscle of love.
I can’t go to school, cause I don’t have a gun. I ain’t got a gun, cause I ain’t got a job. I ain’t got a job, cause I can’t go to school.
I can’t get my wrists to bleed, just don’t know why suicide appeals to me.
My ultimate goal will be my being told in a Penthouse letter that I can frame.
Love’s a loaded gun and it shoots to kill.
Baby, shut up and let me drink the wine from your fur tea cup.
I haven’t had an alcoholic drink in 22 years, but when I did drink I’d go for either Canadian whisky or Budweiser. Sometimes both. For a long time I used to think “Hey you, get off the floor!” was my name.
Welcome to my nightmare, I think you’re going to like it.
I ain’t no veggie, like my flesh to the bone, alive and licking on your ice cream cone.
Please clean your plate dear, the Lord above can see ya. Don’t you know people are starving in Korea.
If zipper catches skin, I’ll know I had it out when I should a kept it in.
If you get earaches, I’d turn my volume down a notch or two for you. Cause I will do anything for you.
While friends and lovers mourn your silly grave, I have other uses for you, darling. I love the dead.