Militant mothers hiding in the basement using pots and pans as their shields and their helmets.
I always think that you should be striving to write your best song.
Old enough to be drafted but not old enough to vote.
Freedom to rock, freedom to talk. Freedom, raise your fist and yell.
I’m your top prime cut of meat, I’m your choice, I wanna be elected.
We try to be as much involved in our product as possible, because then it’s us.
We wanted it more live and raw. We didn’t want a studio sound.
Yet I was Marilyn Manson – times 10.
She didn’t know that there was more of me, she’d have to learn to love all four of me.
You ain’t no Hepburn and I ain’t no Fonda, but if you were drowning in Golden Ponda, mouth to mouth I’d resuscitate you.
She gets a hundred for her body and a nickel for her soul.
Pull my trigger, I get bigger, then I’m lots of fun. I’m your gun, I’m your gun, gun, gun.
That was very close to getting killed. Usually at pop festivals we have people jumping on stage.
All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies. Guess love makes you do funny things.
No more Mr. Nice Guy.
Don’t always know what I am talking about, feels like I’m living in the middle of doubt.
I ain’t got a job cause I ain’t got a car, so I’m looking for a girl with a job and a car.
Some maniac butcher is trying to hack away your balls.
Reverend Smith, he recognized me and punched me in the nose.
Every good band in the world was a cover band first. The Beatles were and the Stones were. Everybody was a cover band.
Welcome To My Nightmare!