Apple of My Irony

Weeds, the apple of my irony
In time you open up your wounds
So you’ve got something to cauterize weeds
I’m growing lines around my eyes
They’re called smile lines
Is that how I got mine?
We can grow out of our shoes
There’s no time so there’s no time
To lose on this fireball
We’re riding on we’re firing on
Weeds, so many bars and resting haunts
So many here so many gone
If walls could talk they’d say we can grow out of our shoes there’s no time
So there’s no time to lose on this fireball we’re riding on