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Dead Flowers

de Nine Pound Hammer

Well, I gotta go, down the road
Outta my way, Pigfuckers, it's getting old
I'm leavin town, anywhere bound
Call my name, I won't be found.

With your Wal-Mart gossip, and country-fried philosophy, toothless witticisms abut farm machinery
Just a greasy ham stuffed with high-school football scores, I'm hittin' the road, mister, I cant take it anymore.

Jacked-up high-school jarheads tradin' licks at the Dairy Queen.
Line-dancing silicon bimbos trying to be seen.
A thousand well-placed hand grenades in the local mall, my little way of sayin' "Goodbye to all y'all!"

Well, anyone can see, it's been home to better than me, so I guess I'd better watch what I say. But what am I supposed to do, the one thing I know is true: the only time I like it is when I'm far away

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