Texty: Swingin' Utters. Juvenile Product of the Working Class. Derailer.

I'm flying off the handle again I tried to keep in touch but my grip has loosened the saints need a second look I'm at the boreal banquet keeping warm boozin'' derailed- I need help god save the queen I fucked up the ant trail derailed- I've been nailed keep falling off the cross the crucifixion failed I'm stepping all over my friends I tried to dodge the bullet, but I'm a needy person I need to get back on track the pub's stoop pillpusher gave me pills to stop pushin' derailed- I need ale to numb the pain and relax in hell derailed- I wanna kill at the embarcadero on the third rail derailer died for our sins, or was it just another drinking binge I'm in a different kind of tension not to be discussed by professional theory it's been going on for quite some time derailer gets by there's no need to worry