Folklore

I've seen your mouth moving, heard others here say

Those words are a piece of a part that you played

That sounds like your father, a teacher, the church

Didn't spring from the heart, but research

The only way I learn is put the fist in and get burned

Go get burned

Old wives, mystics, hearsay

Wise men, rich men, shamen and sage

When you're meek on the Earth, when you die you will pay

For accepting that lot, in the cheapest of graves

The sexes divided, men mustn't be weak

Sensitivity is a vice of which we shan't speak

And women are a plaything that are just made for men

To treat how the boss he respects treats him

And I am going to grow up like daddy wanted me to be

To impress all those, who so impressed me

And young boys melt into men

And we'll start the process again

Add a touch of mystique where the writing gets weak

Break up coherence with a cut-cut-cut up technique

When you've got nothing to say

Shut up or show that you're willing to play