This is about bronies. They communicate by stomping.
I got a flat chest
And a head like a rat's nest
Not to mention that I'm harder than a math test
I'll leave you lyin' face down
Naked from the waist down
After that, I'll go back and burn your place down
Get the cheese outta your hanny's snack
And then I'll call your granny back
I got a great big wad of cash in my fanny pack
The flat bus broken
The angel dust smokin'
I'm the man with the handcuffs on
Just jokin' I describe myself as a half-decent sax player
Amateur coin collector, John Q. Taxpayer
I'm shy around girls with my face all scarred
The only thing in my wallet is a baseball card
I live in the city but I miss farming life
All I need to survive is my Swiss Army Knife
The story of my childhood is bad luck and crises
Born in the year of the rat, and I'm a Pisces
Which makes me a rat fish, so I'm gonna soon need
Someone to tie my shoes and spoon-feed me
Can't wait till the day I ride around in rocket cars
Wear short-sleeve shirts and all I eat is chocolate bars
Take my place for granted and assume the position
On top of the heat because soon the tradition
Of winning the game with one swing of the bat
Will forever be a thing of the past
If I be myself then I'll be by myself
But I don't wanna be remembered by the way I've been rendered.
No, I don't know.
They keep me cooped up in this hot and sweaty cage
With a worn-out mattress and a poster of Bettie Paige
And I'm supposed to write the great American love story
Why don't they sound trumpets, and release flocks at dusk for me?
I gotta be particular about how my career's handled
Before I record, I should go and get my ears candled
I'd like a glass of water and a box of facial tissue
Doing what I do has really never been a racial issue
Someday soon now, I'm gonna have to settle down
Before my bones start makin' that metal-on-metal sound
The difference between me and other people is the greased palms
I was never one to hold my breath when I released bombs
It's possible that I could be huge but I doubt it
Cause my phone's off the hook, but that's about it
Handlin' my bus(iness) I should really do a shipment
To try to make some money to buy some new equipment
With a brand new mic and a room with insulation
And colored pencils. All I need is inspiration
Which brings me back to this hot and sweaty cage
With a worn-out mattress and a poster of Bettie Paige
I look at people look at me. How am I supposed to feel?
Showin' me a picture that isn't even close to real
The final approach is upon me, I can feel it
So I might call this song I Was Right All Along
And a head like a rat's nest
Not to mention that I'm harder than a math test
I'll leave you lyin' face down
Naked from the waist down
After that, I'll go back and burn your place down
Get the cheese outta your hanny's snack
And then I'll call your granny back
I got a great big wad of cash in my fanny pack
The flat bus broken
The angel dust smokin'
I'm the man with the handcuffs on
Just jokin' I describe myself as a half-decent sax player
Amateur coin collector, John Q. Taxpayer
I'm shy around girls with my face all scarred
The only thing in my wallet is a baseball card
I live in the city but I miss farming life
All I need to survive is my Swiss Army Knife
The story of my childhood is bad luck and crises
Born in the year of the rat, and I'm a Pisces
Which makes me a rat fish, so I'm gonna soon need
Someone to tie my shoes and spoon-feed me
Can't wait till the day I ride around in rocket cars
Wear short-sleeve shirts and all I eat is chocolate bars
Take my place for granted and assume the position
On top of the heat because soon the tradition
Of winning the game with one swing of the bat
Will forever be a thing of the past
If I be myself then I'll be by myself
But I don't wanna be remembered by the way I've been rendered.
No, I don't know.
They keep me cooped up in this hot and sweaty cage
With a worn-out mattress and a poster of Bettie Paige
And I'm supposed to write the great American love story
Why don't they sound trumpets, and release flocks at dusk for me?
I gotta be particular about how my career's handled
Before I record, I should go and get my ears candled
I'd like a glass of water and a box of facial tissue
Doing what I do has really never been a racial issue
Someday soon now, I'm gonna have to settle down
Before my bones start makin' that metal-on-metal sound
The difference between me and other people is the greased palms
I was never one to hold my breath when I released bombs
It's possible that I could be huge but I doubt it
Cause my phone's off the hook, but that's about it
Handlin' my bus(iness) I should really do a shipment
To try to make some money to buy some new equipment
With a brand new mic and a room with insulation
And colored pencils. All I need is inspiration
Which brings me back to this hot and sweaty cage
With a worn-out mattress and a poster of Bettie Paige
I look at people look at me. How am I supposed to feel?
Showin' me a picture that isn't even close to real
The final approach is upon me, I can feel it
So I might call this song I Was Right All Along
Lyrics submitted by solvy
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