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My world's on fire, how about yours?
| I was lying on the grass
On Sunday morning of last week
Indulging in my self-defeat
| My mind was thugged, all laced and bugged
All twisted wrong and beat
A comfortable in three feet deep
| Now the fuzzy stare from not being there
On a confusing morning week
Impaired my tribal lunar speak
| And of course you can't become if you only say
What you would have done
So I missed a million miles of fun
| No matter what we breed
We're still made of greed
| You should pee on the world
and stomp the fire out
Flash all the Karens
Become very stout
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| That's the way I like it and I'll never get bored.