I waste nobody’s time but my own
Well it’s mine to waste so let it go
My childhood inspection
Is my record collection
And sometimes i need to feel grown
You’ve got your head up your ass
To keep yourself covered
You trip up the past, trip over your mother
How come?
How come i think you’re capable?
That’s bad enough
I need a kick up the ass
To stop feeling smothered
Look up at the past, look down to discover
How come?
My childhood obsession
Is my record collection
So what makes us so squeaky clean?
If we’re food for worms that’s not my scene