You could tell us that the house is burning down
But you can see from our faces that we're sticking around
Until the paint on the walls starts bubbling
And the smoke has us coughing and stumbling
You know we'll never stop, drop and roll
Because we didn't come up with it ourselves
Our principles go down in flames
But at least we'll be the proudest people in hell
We'll argue with a stop sign, we'll argue with a head
cold
While we wonder, "Is the world really round?"
We kick and scream and grow old
They'll have to drag us out kicking and screaming
