M.C.T.

Arrive at the show, six pack in my hand,
 By the time it's over, I won't be able to stand,
 Through the front door, a feeling of dread,
 Welcomed by a crowd walker's kick to the head
 Concerns, worries, they don't mean shit,
 Everything's fine once you get in the pit,
 Break your shoulder break your neck, bring on whiplash,
 Your buzz is writing checks your body can't cash
 Beer on the floor, blood on the stage,
 can't find the door, trapped in this cage
 Beer on the floor, blood on the stage,
 Slamming, crushing, thrashing,
 Bodies left from the last band that played
 Get in the pit, come on do a flip
 The room's soaked in blood and you try not to slip,
 You're going insane, you're losing your grip,
 Casualties multiply as the guitars let rip
 Show's only half over and you wanna go to bed?
 Go to sleep now and you'll wake up dead
 Three concussions, broken fingers, busted nose,
 And no sorrow, there's another show tomorrow
 Beer fuels the aural assault, riots chaos,
 Heads, arms, legs and guts
 Thrash 'til death as the last exit shuts,
 Bodies are flying, everyone's dying