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: Listen you`re a punk. Turn it down.
Come on turn it down . . .
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