My Nineties

low down like that bastard      
       
getting wetted in the back of an Acura        
after school, down the way, with a spatula      
flipping candy at the rave, feel spectacular       
       
mad stamina, rally around the amateurs        
with a pocket full of shells, and tablatures        
on how to play the bassline that unravels ya        
melt your face, but don't start the panic yet    
       
before the ox goes cannibal      
keep it corpse and of course      
the prophet comes in the form of a damager      
       
the girl is interrupted, get her anger management      
punk's about to die, fuck the whole establishment      
Jerry's still alive, wish I spent some time with him      
rhythm of the saints, even fucks with Paul Simes and them      
it's a balooned mind state, three foot high and rise it is      
do you want more, yes I'm positive      
use to love her like no other, just like common did      
before the sense left the scene, and it's been vomit since!