Texty: Tripping Daisy. Bill. Triangle.

Mean while kickin' them back on the couch
Drug-addicted weak-mind people
Searching for the God through the TV screen
With the preacher jacking off in their face
It's love for him, it's pain for them, it makes me sick

All their pain poured into one
Arms reached out to catch the fun
Playing life's savior with no fear
For he knows his stats will grow
Year, after year, after tear, after tear, after year

Mean while packin' up the lungs
But mark my words I'm gonna rage
I'm gonna make him loose the only one
Make him burn for what he did
Sick, a-ya, sick, a-ya ooh sick

Every time he comes home
To his pet snake named after him
They take turns licking the floor
They take turns licking each other's ooh, he likes it

Every night he kisses his wife on the forehead
She lives down the street
She's got thirty-two rooms in her house
Got thirty of them to paint her face

Mean while packin' up the lungs
Bu mark my words I'm gonna rage
I'm gonna make him loose the only one
Make him burn for what he did
Sick, a-ya, sick, a-ya

Two wrongs don't make a right for him
Playing preacher to the weak bewildered, yeah
One day he'll get his just reward ooh

Well, welcome to the swirling pool
Of red and white blood cells of it all
Disease began by a man full of dream
For when will your journey end
Amongst the slimy green solution?
You see, it makes me sick, sick
Sick, sick, sick, ya-ya

Mean while packin' up the lungs
But mark my words I'm gonna rage
I'm gonna make him loose the only one
Make him burn for what he did
Sick, a-ya, sick, a-ya

One day he'll get his just reward
Playing preacher to the weak bewildered, yeah
One day he'll crash upon hell
When will they ever learn to wake up?