So your old man went and called you a degenerate bum

And you stood there cracking on your cinnamon gun

And your Ma was knockin' at your sister's brains

And you couldn't help thinkin' what she hoped to gain.



Just then that freak walked in the door

Knocked me on the floor. You said: Hey man

You're on some kind of trip? He said:

Don't give me no lip. Just turn it down.



Come on

turn it down



I can't take no more of that god awful sound



So for god's sake turn it down.



Now the suspicious mindn of your learned friends

Will eat away at your kind till the music ends.

And the creep that taught you ev'ry thing you know



Will hyprocritic'lly ask you what the hell you know.



He'll go out and mess you around



Then go home without a sound

you said: Hey man

You're some kinda honk? He said:

Listen

you're a punk. Turn it down.



Come on

turn it down

. . .