Join with me, wrap around the sounds and dance with me

John Travolta in greaser ghetto on E Street. Somewhere a good fellow

Is getting shot through the brain; it's insane, I know it's a given

But feeling the spirits within just got a little more posh than Britain

They wear simple clothing with lots of trinkets, they play tennis,

Drink highballs and smoke cloves in the popular cove at Millen's 

Where lots of poets and know-it-all's commune and talk about the world

And what they can do to make it better, and whether or not they're correct is the point

One hollow, straight edge, ever-forgetful voice--

They call it reason, the season of mist cloaks over its resonance

For ignorance is bliss. So just chill with me for a moment and take it all in.

It's not like I'm trying to lecture but more or less trying to make a point

If you have a voice youd like the world to hear then stow it, no one cares

And that's the situation we're living in today; like god given, existential pay raise

Were rich and important, but never really there. Some dead poets society rip off

It's not like it's the teacher who has to make the grade, but some stoner with his wig off

Trying to pass as an intellectual, but really more like a cavalier

Send him to Europe, label him a queer and cut off his fucking ear.

It's a state of being I can easily identify with from one pissed off teen to another

That's life bitch, so stop your moaning and crying, teary-eyed whining

Before I give you something worth crying about

In a loud clear voice, I will reveal to you; theres nothing left to conceal from you.

Believe me, I can understand your pain, it's just that I dont feel its necessary to refrain

From telling you the way life, from my understanding, truly is, because in this biz

It doesn't pay to lie, and tears aren't payment, so dont you dare try to cry

To gain sympathy from me, for only your words can absolve yourself in this situation

So try a little reason to your tired motivation. Just flip it, tuck up that lip and zip it

Forty years from ain't a soul alive who's going to give a shit, I'm sick of it.