Oh, the babies we could make   Out in parking lots   Of young punks jealous of U.   S. A. is rotting in the air between our   Screams and bloody microphone screens      Why do you keep your   Hands in the pockets   Of all of your ex lover's jeans?   I saw you smoking   Outside the free clinic   Cul-de-sacks of shit and rings      What's that? I dunno   Won't be done until your lips go numb      Making love to the hooker   Under the moonlight   Kicking the canes   From the elderly's hands   You were road raging   With the student drivers   And draining brains   From a braided head