Cyanide Breath Mint - Beck

Definitely this is the wrong place to be

There’s blood on the futon

There’s a kid drinking' fire

Going' down to the sea

They’ve got people to meet

Shaking hands with themselves

Looking' out for themselves

When they ask you credit

You give them a branch

When they want to get it

You chew on the grass

I know, I know

'Cause they told me to tell you

There’s nothing to tell you

There’s nothing to sell you

In the afternoon

Riding the scapegoat

Burning equipment

Decomposing

Cool of your jets

Take off your sweats

I got a funny feeling

They’ve got plastic in the afterlife

When they want you to cry

Leap up into the sky

When they suck your mind

Like a pigeon you’ll fly

I know, I know

It’s the positive people

Running from their time

Looking for some feeling