Target

Somewhere, out past nowhere
 I was born in the middle of an air raid
 Since i hit the dirt, i was on the run
 The son of a gun and a switchblade
 Got my uzi lying on my bed stand
 I made napalm in my sink
 Pipe-bomb in my pants pocket
 I just put cyanide in your drink
 Mic stand's always at my side
 Jack-knife in my boot
 Fully automatic machine-gun
 Is loaded and ready to shoot
 I strayed off the beaten path
 Now there's no place to hide
 My sadness and my wrath
 Contemplated suicide
 Somewhere, out past nowhere
 I lost my way
 No money to pay my fare
 The driver drove away
 I remember sunny winter sundays spent
 Shooting at the sun with my bb-gun
 Thinking, "this is the way that life should be
 Some birds, some bbs, my gun and me."
 But that isn't the way that life should be
 This is the way that life should be
 Guitars, drums, a mic and me
 The band, some roadies, electricity
 Blasting forth with a million watts of power
 The weak get sick and the timid all cower
 'cause we're like a gun and we're taking aim
 Out music's the bullet, the target is your brain
 The guitar, like a laser, cuts through your head
 You drop to your knees and wish you were dead
 Than i grab the mic and i start to shout
 Your ear-drums burst and your brains drain out
 When the bass kicks in, your bones are crushed
 Your eyes roll back as you get a rush
 Then the drums pound you right into the floor
 Now you're rotten to the core