Fan Fiction

My life might end up shorter than yours

But it's quality, not quantity, you thimble-dicked man-whore

I don't wanna tell you lies when there's nothing to disguise

Just look at your life

You did that! You did that!

You done fucked up!

Why don't you take a little jaunt to Ikea or Anthropologie

Because you're living in a fucking funeral parlour

All I saw is something bright as a star in the

Dying ember you left inside the chamber

Of the Midwest redneck church where they turned you into

A man who dresses like Lurch

The ties, there in your eyes, the failure

I mean it when I say we're mean

We're the nightmare of your daydreams

We mean it when we say what we mean

The nightmare of your daydreams

I want to harm you

Instead I'll kiss you to show you I love you and I miss you

Well, fuck you

So now I'll leave a dump on your shitty world

Give you thump, thump, thump for my little girl

You shouldn't have fucked with her, man

Sarcasm and sex spasms

They are illusive to fools who look like you

Your therapist knows you're a failure

Hey, King Fucker:

We mean it when we say we're mean

We're gonna write about it so we don't drug about it

We're gonna sing about it so we don't drunk about it

We're gonna dress like teenage pimps and primp and preen about it

Until we vomit, lit and sick but never green about it

Armed only with lyrics one could not distinguish from the cascade of texts

I inflict on boys named Chris when my wife's mom is sick

But Hey, I feel shitty!

I'm aging backwards she's Blanchett, she's pretty

Because I had a muse but she was exposed to be some angry bro in my lady's clothes

Thursday, taking out the trash to be collected

I remarked to her it occurs to me that I was sub-molested

Stacy's mother knows twas I who got sexted

But with my influence on Stiflers, I may need to be arrested

And I have royalties that need to be collected

From Doghouse Records, mind you

Or Vagrant Records, mind you

Whichever one I was on, I'm forgetting at the moment

Whichever one I was on

Oh, fuck it

This is literally the bottom of the barrel shooting for the lowest branch

You're gonna hear it a lot

Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me

That sounds like an is a Real Boy track

And I'm aware of that but are you aware that I'm aware of that?

Because I'm walking away, trembling

Walking away but the mic cord won't reach that long

And I've still got it going on

After all these years I know I will never be alone

Why won't you pick up that phone?

Oh my god, I'm afraid to not go stiff

This death-wish stiff is stiff and bored

Now I'm lit like the band fucking Lit

I have no drink or smoke to curb the enthused of my chemical dysfunction

My one chemical romance left me with one tattoo and one concussion

Cascade of texts I inflict on boys named Chris

Now we're like the Violent Femmes again

This stage was bred to bleed attrition

If it's a fiction we live I'm a fan

It's fan fiction

Fuck fucking fan fiction

Tonight, we'll raise our breath and we'll live ourselves to death

We all float in spinning prisons, choking on that goddamn prism

But I'm swimming in a goddamn prison

We are legends again, legends all again

And we're going off again

Those black outfits, they're slimming

And I'm swimming in a goddamn prison

Where we are all the same people and we all play the same role in the band

I used to pray for times like this. To rhyme like this

But I had to grind like that to shine like this

In the back of a paddywagon, cuffs locked on wrists

But it's over now

So we rise