I Shoot For The Moon But I'm

See It's Easy As Cake, Simple As Whistling Dixie While I'm Waving The Pistol At Sixty Christians Against Me Go To War With The Mormons, Take A Bath With The Catholics In Holy Water, No Wonder They Tried To Hold Me Under Longer.

Sixty Sluts, All Of Them Dying From Asphyxia After They Sip Piss Through A Christopher Reeves Sippy Cup.

Mother, Are You There? I Love You. I Never Meant To Hit You Over The Head With That Shovel.

Everybody Has Goals, Aspirations Or Whatever, And Everybody Has Been At A Point In Their Life Where Nobody Believed In Them.

You Know How It Is - You Make Songs, And As You Make The New Ones, The Old Ones Get Old And You Throw Them Out.