sticks and stones

You think I'm not pissed, but in my head I've already killed you three times

The first time I grabbed a knife and jabbed it into your back
The second time I pushed you down a flight of really long stirs and watched you break your neck
The third time (my favourite) I took my heavy hockey stick and took a swing at your head

I stand before you contemplating these beautiful deaths as you yell at me for something I didn't do (and blame me for everything that you didn't do that was now supposed to be my burden to carry)
It's not my fault you're a lazy ba- ,I mean, excuse of a father!

In my mind I dare you to step closer and to lay a finger on me
(I've always wondered which weapon I'd go for first)
I mean, that's what you used to do when I was younger, wasn't it?
Come at me, I dare you