It's all just a game, right? But I forget the fuckin' shifty rules I'm not a poet I suppose if the elite defeat the meter of my prose And in no uncertain terms mines is a faith that isn't confirmed Ask the Berkeley position and what you're hearing isn't worth the listen But I don't want it all I just want you Don't get me all wrong, the scars were defensive wounds I won't make a great liar, can't debate a taste I can't afford to acquire Won't stoop down to clean up well if your parents and friends think I looks like hell So strike a proud pose You drew the long straw just to cram it up your nose You want a suit and tie to make band and multiply Join the unsatisfied You know what? You're just not my type