Razor

All the pool hall, hustling dough
I'll beat the panzies and then I'll go
out to the bar, to pick a fight
main some redneck then hit the night
why am I always in a mood like this
I don't know, ain't no psychiatrist
this nagging feeling, that I've got won't quit
I feel no pain and I don't give a shit
Left, right, fight-taste the floor
two, four, move-out the door
Music magazines with fags on the front
they dress like women, their message is blunt