Life is fast but I don't wanna live past you, cause you are my only roots
I was the king of the [bad word] booze thing now I've worn out the soles of my party boots
So call me [bad word] faced Master of Disgrace, I don't care cause my outer skin
Is thick like [bad word]  and a liver [bad word] out, now I'm on a list

Everybody wants to give a [bad word] outta me, I won't give it but I'll give ambivalence
I gotta memory box cause my memory blocks me, from remembering weeks
All the blacked out nights into white out mornings, into grey matter damagings
So call me Fat [bad word]  geriatric punk rock, give it straight cause I deserve
a verbal beating from an audience bleating, and a melee with no concern
Everybody wants to give a [bad word] outta me, I won't give it but I'll give irresponsiveness
Everybody wants to drag me up again, I wanna go, but the price keeps going up
Going down is simple and practical, laying low but keeping it cynical
I'm on the wagon and it's such a drag, without a key kick, shot, and a drag

Evidently no one likes a quitter or an old punk's bitterness
So I'm waiting for the tap, on my shoulder, cause we're all getting older not better
The laughs are no longer with us
So call me Fat [bad word] geriatric punk,
call me Fat [bad word] geriatric punk
call me Fat [bad word] geriatric punk [bad word] faced master of disgrace