Well, her lips are coffin sized
Her purse is stuffed with cherry bombs
And towing the VIP line
She knows the Mohawk-ed door guy
The first chamber's empty
Of vegan/Hindu cigarettes
With her lips drumming a table poem
She's ready for the insurrection thing
The insurrection thing
The two-stroke rat boy
He's a Japanese drop out
Got his ideas wrapped in gaffer's tape
His leathers' all matte with jaded thrills
Pasted on his badge vest:
オハヨウ、ママさん
Old enough to drink and vote and kill
He's ready for the insurrection thing
The insurrection thing
Me, I got my velvet's on
Tugging on my faux-hate
And this safety pin mini-skirt
Had my legs dipped in latex
Had my night goggles' made of motherhood
But my boots are still made of heartaches
I'm waiting on the insurrection thing
The insurrection thing
Can you feel your auto immune disease?
Pumping out your thyroids?
Throw away your crosses
We can't afford the death toll
Get up off your ergonomics
Get up your insurrection thing
Get up your insurrection thing
Get up your insurrection thing