B.C.A
Out of all the people in the world
Relaying what they've done
And what they've heard
The only artist that gets thanks
Is the one who spews out the
Blackened cynical angst
When it pains it roars
Sorry my life isn't as dismal as yours
Existential shooting blanks
False praise in return for the b.c.a.
I'm telling you you're telling me
Cry and yell and piss and moan and
Shake yourself and scream
But pick up your aching head
Life may be short but
Would you be better off dead
And for the time you spent give thanks
You knew more than everyone else
Purveyor of the b.c.a.
Starting line I'm dragging ass
Hopping the turnstiles jumping the tracks
Let the others take it to the bank
And drink from the trophy cup Filled with b.c.a.