Turning red. Adopting styles that seem inbred And made of lead. Stay on the pace Recoup the lips. Avoid this place. Seek without trace. It’s a hoot. Run ahead and blindly shoot. Hit the marker in dispute. Marking time Laying boundaries out to line A life of crime Drift away Never find the urge to play. We’re made of clay. It’s a hoot. Hit the marker in dispute, Even if that point is moot. It’s a hoot, Even if that point is moot. Run ahead and blindly shoot. Fazing in, Wondering when it’s time to begin Chance is thin Emptied out The belted will and in the rout. We lack the clout It’s a hoot, Run head and blindly shoot. Hit the marker in dispute Even if that point is moot. Run ahead and blindly shoot.