Misdemeanors

A boy’s death find him
Vacantly portrayed as a thief
And he laughs his laugh
He jokes on you
And you consider him for release
Drunk means hours of violence
Twenty-four hours to kill
A boy’s loose cannon
Waiting for disaster
And he laughs his laugh
The grinding teeth yelling:
«Faster, faster, can we go any faster?»
Drunk means hours of violence ('ey!)
Twenty-fours hours to kill (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!)
Up to something, good for nothing
Fuck the statues there
And if your so-called friends
Won’t cage you in the end
Your misdemeanors will
Up to something, good for nothing
Fuck the statues there
And if your so-called friends
Won’t cage you in the end
Your misdemeanors will
Oh yeah! Need it!
Misdemeanors will!
(Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!)