Against Me WHY?
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Against Me" by WHY?. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
I've been habitually rubbing the sleep from my eyes
I see the rain does not respect state lines, why should you?
And I've seen dirt dry fires arise by pissing boy fountain statues
And they say electricity can travel up your piss stream
Oh, am I too concerned with the burn of scrutiny?
Cold, chased, run and covered like a horse before the race
Will I gain weight in later life?
And when will someone swing a scythe against me?
Out of every woman on earth, who will I mate with?
Or will I spit empty threats until all that's left
Is a million zeros printed on a roll of ticker-tape?
And one last echo of the final tiny wave in my wake?
Will all my unused seed collect like mercury
In some kind of afterlife for halves?
Should I offer up my lats and pecs as stakes in death?
Whatever the will of the people shall be, Ohio and me
But am I too concerned with the burn of scrutiny?
Cold chased on run and covered like a horse before the race
Will I gain weight in later life?
And when will someone swing a scythe against me?
Oh I'd rest in peace on a freshly cleaned and steamed plush carpet for sure
In the vacant third floor of a department store
Or be hung with four nails on the projection wall
In an empty convention center banquet hall
I see the rain does not respect state lines, why should you?
And I've seen dirt dry fires arise by pissing boy fountain statues
And they say electricity can travel up your piss stream
Oh, am I too concerned with the burn of scrutiny?
Cold, chased, run and covered like a horse before the race
Will I gain weight in later life?
And when will someone swing a scythe against me?
Out of every woman on earth, who will I mate with?
Or will I spit empty threats until all that's left
Is a million zeros printed on a roll of ticker-tape?
And one last echo of the final tiny wave in my wake?
Will all my unused seed collect like mercury
In some kind of afterlife for halves?
Should I offer up my lats and pecs as stakes in death?
Whatever the will of the people shall be, Ohio and me
But am I too concerned with the burn of scrutiny?
Cold chased on run and covered like a horse before the race
Will I gain weight in later life?
And when will someone swing a scythe against me?
Oh I'd rest in peace on a freshly cleaned and steamed plush carpet for sure
In the vacant third floor of a department store
Or be hung with four nails on the projection wall
In an empty convention center banquet hall
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