Tattoo your neck and pretend you have the right
To breathe the same air as me just overnight
You are the brand new infection
The infestation – The noise
That can’t decide on where to steer the helm
So you never try - Never care to make a choice
You say it validates your art
That it is proof of your devotion
It’s a tub of lard
When a fat joke isn’t that funny
Just excrement from the bowels
Of the mother of all that is junk
Metal-Core Insecticide
This is Metal-Core Insecticide
More hellbent on the way you look
You gimmicks and your shitty hooks
A hallowed shell or a shallow hell
A first grade poop deliverer
Your greasy hairdos
Your excessive body art
It’s not proof of your devotion
It’s a tub of lard
An awkward pile of shit – It’s the exodus of wit
And to the idiot down the line
It’s just a sign of the times
You are the new grunge
What happens now has happened before
It doesn’t matter if you think you’ll live
You’ll never survive
It is the natural order of things
The higher you fly the further you fall
Once you are replaced
Metal-Core Insecticide
-There will be no room for you
Metal-Core Insecticide
-In just a few years you’re thru
Metal-Core Insecticide
-And there is nothing that you can do…

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