They say that I ain't got the style, I ain't got the class. I ain't got the smarts that's going to put me on the map and I'm a phony in disguise, trying to make it out of here. I'm an anti-social, anarchist who looks like so and so. They say I'm just a stupid kid, just a crazy radical. "What you're doing is dead", I probably should've stayed in school, another generation X, who somehow slipped up through the crack. You'd love to see me fall but I'm already on my back. Now I know I'm not a saint, I've been a sinner all my life. I ain't trying to hide my flaws, I'd rather keep them in the light. They wanna criticize, scrutinize, cast another stone, burn me at the stake and sit and watch it from their throne. They say the devil is my pal, I do a lot of drugs. That people will only like me if they're really fucking drunk. They think they know my thoughts, but they don't know the least. If they listened to the words, they'd find the message that's beneath

Here's the moral to the story, I don't do it for the glory. I don't do it for the money, I don't do it for the things. So all the critics who despise me, go ahead and criticize. It's your charity that drives me and adds the fire to my flames

Love,
S


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