Heads of state who ride and wrangle
Who look at your face from more than one angle
Can cut you from their bloated budgets
Like sharpening knives through chicken mcnuggets
Heads of state who ride and wrangle
Who look at your face from more than one angle
Can cut you from their bloated budgets
Like sharpening knives through chicken mcnuggets
Shut the f___ up
Shut the f___ up
Right, right

When you tried to kiss me
I only bit your tongue.
When you tried to get me together
I only came undone.
When you tried to tell me
The one for me was you,
I was in your mattress back in 1982.

Daria, I won't be soothed.
Daria, I won't be soothed over like,
Smoothed over like milk,
Silk, a bedspread, or a quilt,
Icing on a cake,
Or a serene translucent lake.
Daria, Daria, Daria,

At first I was afraid.
I was petrified.
I kept thinking I could never live
Without you by my side.
But then I spent so many nights
Just thinking how you'd done me wrong.
I grew strong.
I learned how to get along.

And so you're back from outer space.
I just walked in to find you here
Without that look upon your face.
I should have changed my fucking lock.

You won't admit you love me.
And so how am I ever to know?
You only tell me
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

A million times I ask you,
And then I ask you over again.
You only answer
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

If you can't make your mind up,
We'll never get started.
And I don't wanna wind up
Being parted, broken-hearted.
So if you really love me,
Say yes.

Heads of State who ride and wrangle,
Who look at your face from more than one angle,
Can cut you from their bloated budgets
Like sharpened knives through Chicken McNuggets.

Now Heads of State who ride and wrangle,
Who look at your face from more than one angle,
Can cut you from their bloated budgets
Like sharpened knives through Chicken McNuggets.

Shut the fuck up.
Shut the fuck up.

I'm writing a song all about you.
A true song as real as my tears.
But you've no need to fear it
Cause no one will hear it.
Sad songs and waltzes aren't selling this year.

I'll tell all about how you cheated.
I'd like for the whole world to hear.
I'd like to get even
With you cause you're leavin'.
But sad songs and waltzes aren't selling this year.

The land of race car ya-yas
The land where you can't change lanes
The land where large fuzzy dice still hang proudly
Like testicles from rear view mirrors
The land of race car ya-yas
The land where you can't change lanes
The land where large fuzzy dice still hang proudly
Like testicles from rear view mirrors
The land of race car ya-yas
Ya-yas
The land of race car ya-yas

I'm writing a song all about you.
A true song as real as my tears.
But you've no need to fear it
Cause no one will hear it.
Sad songs and waltzes aren't selling this year.
I'll tell all about how you cheated.
I'd like for the whole world to hear.
I'd like to get even
With you cause you're leavin'.
But sad songs and waltzes aren't selling this year.

It's a good thing that I'm not a star.

She doesn't care
Whether or not he's an island.
She doesn't care,
Just as long as his ship's coming in.
She doesn't care
Whether or not he's an island.
If they laugh, they make money.
He's got a gold watch.
She's got a silk dress
And healthy breasts
That bounce on his Italian leather sofa.
She doesn't care
Whether or not he's a good man.
She doesn't care,

Last night I said to her
I didn't want to live inside a lie.
If she wants him
More than she wants me,
Let this be.
She'll come back to me.
She'll come back to me.
She'll come back.
All day I wait and wait
To hear her footsteps on my walkway.
She never came.
She never even called.
She'll come back to me.
She'll come back to me.
She'll come back.

Somehow I know it won't last.

Heads of State who ride and wrangle,
Who look at your face from more than one angle,
Can cut you from their bloated budgets
Like sharpened knives through Chicken McNuggets.
Now Heads of State who ride and wrangle,
Who look at your face from more than one angle,
Can cut you from their bloated budgets
Like sharpened knives through Chicken McNuggets.

Shut the fuck up.
Shut the fuck up.

It's coming down.
It's coming down.
It's raining outside.
You've nowhere to hide.
She's asking you
Why you think it's funny.
It's coming down.
It's coming down.
She's leaving your house.
She had to get out.
She's mad,
And she'll take her mattress with her.

It's coming down.
It's coming down.
It's coming down.
It's coming down.
It's coming down.
It's coming down.

It's coming down.

You won't admit you love me.
And so how am I ever to know
You only tell me
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
A million times I ask you,
And then I ask you over again.
You only answer
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

If you can't make your mind up,
We'll never get started.
And I don't wanna wind up
Being parted, broken-hearted.
So if you really love me,
Say yes.
But if you don't, dear, confess.

Stickshifts and safetybelts,
Bucket seats have all got to go.
When we're driving in the car,
It makes my baby seem so far.
I need you here with me,
Not way over in a bucket seat.
I need you to be here with me,
Not way over in a bucket seat.
But when we're driving in my Malibu,
It's easy to get right next to you.
I say, "Baby, scoot over, please."
And then she's right there next to me.

She's writing, she's writing,
She's writing a novel.
She's writing, she's weaving,
Conceiving a plot.
It quickens, it thickens.
You can't put it down now.
It takes you, it shakes you,
It makes you lose your thought.
But you're caught in your own glory.
You are believing your own stories.
Writing your own headlines.
Ignoring your own deadlines.
But now you've gotta write them all again.

To me, coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word.
End is the only part of the word
That I heard.
Call me morbid or absurd.
But to me, coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word.
To me, coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word.
End is the only part of the word
That I heard.
Call me morbid or absurd.
But to me, coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,
Engines pumping and thumping in time.
The green light flashes, the flags go up.
Churning and burning, they yearn for the cup.
They deftly maneuver and muscle for rank,
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank.
Reckless and wild, they pour through the turns.
Their prowess is potent and secretly stern.
As they speed through the finish, the flags go down.

We know of an ancient radiation
That haunts dismembered constellations,
A faintly glimmering radio station.
While Frank Sinatra sings Stormy Weather,
The flies and spiders get along together,
Cobwebs fall on an old skipping record.

Beyond the suns that guard this roof,
Beyond your flowers of flaming truths,
Beyond your latest ad campaigns,
An old man sits collecting stamps