Sits in his office rappin' with the rats, lookin' for excuses for his fits and

spats, makin' things worse with a cocaine brain, trying to judge the

distance between pleasure and pain. Stinks like a madman cries all the

time, confident of all the answers he'll find, don't get confused or call

him paranoid-o, he just doesn't know about his mondo freudo.

Sittin'on the couch he tried to pour out his heart, while the doctor

yawned a bit and tried to hold back a fart and then he lit up a cigar and

just started to smoke and just thinkin' to himself that it's just a joke.

"Well I got a good job and it pays real well, and when I get home I treat the kids

like hell. Beat my wife within an inch of her life and tried to slit my

wrists with a dull butter knife. The family's real worried 'bout my

carousin' and boozin' " and the doctor lit a smoke to try to keep him

from snoozin', it was getting real lame and doc was gettin' annoyed-o

and didn't give a damn about mondo freudo.

Sittin' on the couch etc...

Doctor couldn't take it anymore, cuz he was bored and just sick and

tired of listenin' to a mondo freudo. Wife and the kids whose life just

hit the skids were sick and tired of gettin' pushed around and livin' in

a condo with a mondo freudo.

The secretary knew that names couldn't escape her, walked down to

the corner to buy a newspaper. Back to the office, past all the bums,

readin' 'bout the baby junkies in the Chilean slums and "Wife shoots

husband, twice in the head" she knew the name of the man that was

dead, he was a pain in the ass, a fly in the ointment, wife bought a gun

and he missed his appointment