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So your old man went and called you a degenerate bum |
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And you stood there crackin' on your cinnamon gun |
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And your ma was knockin' at your sister's brains |
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And you couldn't help thinkin' what she hoped to gain |
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Just then that freak walked in the door |
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And knocked me to the floor |
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You said, "Hey man, you're on some kind of trip" |
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He said, "Don't give me no lip" |
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Just turn it down, come on turn it down |
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I can't take no more of that God-awful sound |
|
So for God's sake, turn it down |
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Now the suspicious minds of your learned friends |
|
Will eat away at your kind 'til the music ends |
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And the creep that taught you everything you know |
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Will hypocritically ask you what the hell you know |
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He'll go out and mess around, then go home without a sound |
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You said, "Hey man, you're some kinda monk" |
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He said, "Listen here, you punk" |
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Just turn it down, come on turn it down |
|
I can't take no more of that God-awful sound |
|
So for God's sake, turn it down |
|
Turn it down, just turn it down |
|
Come on, turn it down, I said turn it down |
|
Come on, turn it down, just turn it down |
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I can't take no more of that God-awful sound |
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So for God's sake, turn it down |
