The fifteenth track off the first Andy the Doorbum full length "The Doorbooth Album (You're Going Crazy, And I'm Coming With You)"
“Fuck you buddy, you’re paying for this studio time.” –Me
“Have fun asshole. I’m not paying for shit!” –Neal
“You don’t think so...You haven’t paid yet.” –Me
“You better lay this down on the right tempo this time.” –Neal
“We gotta dedicate this to somebody.” –Me
“Slow that tempo down a little bit.” –Neal
“We gotta dedicate this…This is for everybody! This is for people that pieces of shit,
And pieces of shit that are people!” –Me
“And that’s not Philip Shive cause he’s not a piece of shit!” –Neal
“No, he’s just people.” –Me
“Can I get one ear?” –Neal
I walk to, and pop it off, in a jack-off booth.
I find the filthiest thing I can use to wipe it off, a silk suit.
I call that a promise held to truth. (That’s what I think about.)
Crouching over campfires to take a shit..
I feel the burn but I don’t see what else you get out of it.
Waste disposal has a steeper fee. (Now pay it up, prick!)
You think long hair’s cool cause there’s a hippie in town,
Paid thirty bucks to get his threads and yet the punks got him down.
How ironic for an iconic poster boy to try to make a move. (Huh!)
Trendy kids are cool to fuck with,
Cause you can tell them things are popular when they are not and they’ll believe you,
Because they’re stupid. Oh, they’re really, really fucking stupid.
They’re all just worthless morons, and let’s pray that they wear condoms
So they don’t have some fucking stupid kids like they are,
And like their parents were for having them, they’re stupid.
Oh, they’re really, really fucking stupid for having trendy kids.
Oh, they’re goddamn stupid.
I walk to, and pop it off in a jack-off booth.
It’s not the pleasantest thing, but by god, damnit, it’s the truth.
If you’d like I got a garment with the crusty remnants of the proof.
(Your values don’t mean shit to you, so…)
P-p-p-p-p-p-please do one thing for me,
Take toilet paper and wipe off your ass when it starts to bleed
From the campfires burning in between your knees. (I’ll repeat it for you.)