Sunday morning at my house,
waking up with a chiped tooth and a swollen mouth
Old man is screaming, old lady pulling her hair
Have to get out of this house, drive towards nowhere
Am quiet as a mouse, I am really not a bad guy
But something makes me click , feels like am high
than it brakes loose i cant control it and just swing,
........its sympto-matic................
every saturday the same thing,
......sunday morning labeled proble-matic.....
I try to explain what makes me click,
Start hating on everyone, chuck spastic fits
old man really dont care about the little bits,
mama, she belives i am out of order
Send me to pshycologist , claiming i suffer from Post Traumatic stress Desorder
Well my thoughts a quiet clear,
why does the old man never sit with mama..
when he drinks beer....
When he talks to mama, its like she doesnt even hear
this devil inside me , feeds on this fear
Takes control of my body, than start hitting anyone near
My friend try and hold me, but really its just a rush
if there is noone around, bottles on my head, i will crush.
But they just argue, they seem to be blind
more they drift from each other , more they leave me behind.
My body is like a nervouse rack, its a countdown
set to saturday night , than its showdown
If you two found the same flight, towards the same direction
it would be the solution to this equasion.
You two are too distracted , and the Devil inside me is evolving
You have to stop this shit, becaouse i am disolving,
If he takes over, All this so far has been childs play
If you to get divorced, I wont live to see another Sunday.