Poor old Johnny got knocked in the teeth

Ran screaming through the streets

Rode his bike off a cliff

All that was left was a sniff

Way down, lay down

And not one person cared that Johnny left

They only cared about his death

All he had was magazines - a box full of porn

I wanna be a product of that society

All his friends say Johnny man, take a hit of this

And all the future dreams, be coy personality.

John will die in a year or two, he'll get schizophrenia, swap his brain for glue

That spells the end