killer instinct in my eye but I don't bite,
you know why? cause it's suffocating quietly inside.
The second that it breathes, it opens its eyes, to their surprise,
a jack in the box with a fully automatic inside,
pull this car over, get the kids off of the ride,
they don't show it with their eyes, but they know a truth from a lie.
An intergenerational game of monkey see, monkey do...
do as I say my lit' homey, but not as I do,
a lot easier to say when you don't see the
three fingers pointing back at you.
I've got some of the answers, but I keep finding clues.
I used to wear this life like a costume, now it's a second skin.
Some clothes you wear start to wear you,
you're the first to hope you win, and the last to see you lose.
Go to church and you can learn about sinners and saints,
go to confession anonymous and you can lodge your complaints,
my angel in the mail came with a demon inside...
a full metal jacket against the skin of my pretty young bride.
The inside is what's real and the outside is fake,
don't' be Bart Simpson reaching for the electric cupcake.
Can't fix a broken home with a sludge hammer,
can't win the game throwing TD passes to Quintin Jammer.
It's hard to get on the right track without a ticket to ride,
it's tough to find the inner beauty when you're dying inside.
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