It was the summer of '95 (so what?!),

in the backyard, shaving the old plies.

Feeling so strong, something went wrong.

Straight into my finger, what a stinger, it was so long.

I still remember that day,

like the day that I said that I swear,

"I'll never hurt myself again",

but it seems that I'm deemed to be wrong,

to be wrong, to be wrong.

So i've got to keep holding on...

they always played a slow song.

When they come for me,

I'll be sitting at my desk,

with a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest..

Singing "my, my, my, how the time does fly,

when you know you're going to die by the end of the night."

I still remember when we were young and fragile then.

No one gave a shit about us because times were tougher then.

Feeling so good, cruising the hood;

straight into the real world, rich kids never understood.

But I don't care. I can fade away to anywhere.

Don't stop because you might get dropped and if

you do who's going to pick you up.

Well I won't... they always played a slow song