So get up and count your teeth / and make love on the loan shark sheets / where your girl got passed around / to help wash down the post-war doubt. / Or have you lost your taste for it? / Those bloodlust boys and girls donât quit, / so thereâs a crowd under your clothes, / between you both and you canât get close. // So you sleep and she drinks, / and you drink and she sleeps, / and you blink and she blinks⦠/ well, God, ainât love a fucked-up thing? // When you choke on your riot tongue / and cheap cologne in the vulgar sun, / youâll write it off and lay in bed / with minefield dread and words to shred, / but now you know your friends are rats, / and now you drink with baseball bats, / and goddamn, you still want her mouth / to drown you out with explosion sounds. // But you sleep and she drinks, / and you drink and she sleeps, / and you blink and she blinks⦠/ well, God, ainât love a fucked-up thing? // But I love the great obscene, / I love the strip club meat, I love the trophy heat, / and I know Iâll miss your teeth, / but God, I love the fucked-up things. // So if it takes one more time to give this up, / then Iâll wait one more night to give you up, / but now it seems like we both like the noose tight / and youâve got a cutthroat mind / and we both like the noose tight, / and we both got the rope and we both got the time. // But I sleep and you drink, / and I drink and you sleep, / and I blink and you blink⦠/ well, that is the truly fucked-up thing. // âCause we are the great obscene, / and all those girls are cheap, those boys just canât compete. / In our hell, the drinks are free, / and we are the greatest fucked-up things. // So come on, letâs barricade the doors. / Yeah, come on, fuck all those rookie whores. / Yeah, come on, letâs have a civil war, / only stop to call the dealer and the liquor store. / Yeah, come on, letâs see what veins are for. / Yeah, come on, letâs fuck with hell some more. / Yeah, come on, weâll kill each other, sure, / but we wonât die alone and we wonât die bored.