with that smile and that sense of self-importance
i hope for your sake you've once killed a man
and have the fearless steel balls to do it again
because i'm going to keep coming until
only a bloody foot, shin, and knee is all that's left of me

i haven't always been this dedicated
to the chopping down of a memory
of speaking in fear of something in me
but unfortunately for the both us, i'm now just that man
who, like the slow motion sport movie hero, will fight to the end

for thinking folk like me the first punch is the hardest
it's an answer to a question posed by a brick surgically implanted into an irish skull
to the girl standing in a cute top, short skirt, hair made up, the whole scene is just dull
and two hard heads linger in the exhaust of a passing bus
like two vanilla icecream scoops in a root-beer float, not ready to be either one of us