I'm laying up in my room with a gun and a cigarette and a band that really rocked
And we're drinking some beer and smoking blunts and I said
Hey, I got a new car, it's a '72 Pantera, you want to go for a ride?
And we're going down the highway at about ninety miles an hour in a fifty-five mile an hour zone
Going totally over the speed limit
And all of a sudden this really sharp turn comes up and this other car's coming and we crash
You think you're really famous
You think that you're a star
You think that selling millions
Buy yourself a car
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You think that you're real tough
You take them for a cruise
You smash it up and kill someone
And now you're paying dues
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You know, we're probably gonna get a whole lot of slag for putting a blues part on a thrash album
(But we don't give a fuck)
But I mean, as far as I'm concerned, anyone who gives us a hard time can go fuck off
(Right)
'Cause after all, we're musicians and we can do whatever we want
(That's the shit, baby)
You don't have to listen if you don't want to hear it
(You know, guy's got a point)
(Word)
You know, for a lot of people who criticize our shit who've never gone into the recording studio
It probably sounds real easy to go in and do an album
But fuck, you try going to Los Angeles, going into nice weather from the middle of winter in New York
Twenty thousand dollars back, a foreign city where everybody's fucking queer
Where the cars stop for pedestrians, it's fucking bizarre
(Just go up and cross at the corner)
And you try to stay under budget while you're doing it
You're Razzle's grim reaper
You steal your license plate
Attorney gave you up
And you plead your case
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You didn't really matter
You really have to fight
When you get to the altar
You pay your little tithe
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Butt fuck
I don't know, it needs something
That's it