So your old man went and called you a degenerate bum
And you stood there cracking on your cinnamon gun
And your Ma was knockin' at your sister's brains
And you couldn't help thinkin' what she hoped to gain.

Just then that freak walked in the door
Knocked me on the floor. You said: Hey man
You're on some kind of trip? He said:
Don't give me no lip. Just turn it down.

Come on
turn it down

I can't take no more of that god awful sound

So for god's sake turn it down.

Now the suspicious mindn of your learned friends
Will eat away at your kind till the music ends.
And the creep that taught you ev'ry thing you know

Will hyprocritic'lly ask you what the hell you know.

He'll go out and mess you around

Then go home without a sound
you said: Hey man
You're some kinda honk? He said:
you're a punk. Turn it down.

Come on
turn it down
. . .

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