O.T.B.

Let's reenact the Civil War
After we drink our bellies sore
With your father's moonshine
Where the little boy died
After playing with a broken power line

In the first place
I come in second place
But I will not wait for third

All those lines on your counter
White like those on the road
The dog went back to where we found her
Since we didn't feed it well
Where did our money go?

The mailman is a narc
He reads our magazines
He doesn't get modern art
And he hates us
Because we drink gasoline