Lyrics

I waste nobody's time but my own Well it's mine to waste so let it go My childhood inspection Is my record collection And sometimes I need to feel grown You've got your head up your ass To keep yourself covered You trip up the past, trip over your mother How come? How come you think I'm capable? That's bad enough I need a kick up the ass To stop feeling smothered Look up the past, look down to discover How come? My childhood obsession Is my record collection So what makes us so squeaky clean? If we're food for worms That's not my scene