Outta the Way, Pigfuckers

Well, I gotta go, down the road
Outta my way, Pigf*ckers, it's getting old
I’m leavin town, anywhere bound
Call my name, I won’t be found
With your Wal-Mart gossip, and country-fried philosophy, toothless witticisms
abut farm machinery
Just a greasy ham stuffed with high-school football scores, I’m hittin' the
road, mister, I can’t take it anymore
Jacked-up high-school jarheads tradin' licks at the Dairy Queen
Line-dancing silicon bimbos trying to be seen
A thousand well-placed hand grenades in the local mall, my little way of sayin'
«Goodbye to all y’all!»
Well, anyone can see, it’s been home to better than me, so I guess I’d better
watch what I say. But what am I supposed to do, the one thing I know is true:
the only time I like it is when I’m far away