Butt F**Ck

I'm laying up in my room with a gun and a cigarette and a band that really rocked
 And we're drinking some beer and smoking blunts and I said
 Hey, I got a new car, it's a '72 Pantera, you want to go for a ride?
 And we're going down the highway at about ninety miles an hour in a fifty-five mile an hour zone
 Going totally over the speed limit
 And all of a sudden this really sharp turn comes up and this other car's coming and we crash
 You think you're really famous
 You think that you're a star
 You think that selling millions
 Buy yourself a car
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 You think that you're real tough
 You take them for a cruise
 You smash it up and kill someone
 And now you're paying dues
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 You know, we're probably gonna get a whole lot of slag for putting a blues part on a thrash album
 (But we don't give a fuck)
 But I mean, as far as I'm concerned, anyone who gives us a hard time can go fuck off
 (Right)
 'Cause after all, we're musicians and we can do whatever we want
 (That's the shit, baby)
 You don't have to listen if you don't want to hear it
 (You know, guy's got a point)
 (Word)
 You know, for a lot of people who criticize our shit who've never gone into the recording studio
 It probably sounds real easy to go in and do an album
 But fuck, you try going to Los Angeles, going into nice weather from the middle of winter in New York
 Twenty thousand dollars back, a foreign city where everybody's fucking queer
 Where the cars stop for pedestrians, it's fucking bizarre
 (Just go up and cross at the corner)
 And you try to stay under budget while you're doing it
 You're Razzle's grim reaper
 You steal your license plate
 Attorney gave you up
 And you plead your case
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 You didn't really matter
 You really have to fight
 When you get to the altar
 You pay your little tithe
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 I don't know, it needs something
 That's it