Why is everything that is suppose to be bad,
make me feel so good.
Everything they tell me not to,
is exactly what I do.
Being bad is bad,
but being bad is just so good. What’s bad, about being bad is… you’re only misunderstood?
You don’t hear me though!
I’m mad as the maddest hatter,
bat as the battiest, batter.
If emotion was soap I’d have the lathiest lather – “that’s pretty intense”
Or just pretty in sense,
light the wick and find your self with a pretty incense.
Some would say that’s pretty insane,
but in Spain,
when it rains,
The Taurus stampedes!
Let it marinade in your brain for a day,
it will make sense,
but if you guard your thoughts in fear,
you’ll be caught up in “D” fence.
I mean “the” fence,
cause the guards are a few post,
made to stop the thoughts of the most…