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