Sings His Big 10, Vol. 1 lyrics

See my body, it's nothing to get hung about.
I'm nobody except genetic runaround.
Spiritual era's gone, it ain't comin' back.
Bad religion, a cabal, that is all that's left.
Hey Mr. Mind, stop wasting my time,
With your factory precision.
Factory precision is your
Bad religion, too good to take.
Indecision, it's not too late.
Bad religion, bad religion.
Ay!

There was a boy who had too many toys and an ache inside of his bones.
He sought extrication through chemical vocation and now he answers to Jones.
It's deadly and alluring, the sound of pounding heat,
Enslaving all who dare succumb to the temptations of the forbidden beat.
Thinking today of what I want to say, thinking of inhibition and vice.

when everybody dies around you, from someone else's gun,
it really makes you stop and think about the years to come.
something good had to happen to the human race.
we all had better stop hoping and set our heads on straight.
you've gotta turn over a new leaf,
'cause that old one's turning on you.
we've gotta turn over a new leaf.
if the future's only hoped for, we are doomed.