I'm going out now, you know where I'll be
It's not my fault—it's the blood-blind beast
I was born into this—six litres red
I'm going out now so the beast is fed
He who makes a beast of himself
Gets rid of the pain of being a man
I want money and girls and time to waste
I want a scar in my beard and a bushel of class As
I'm staying out now for a good while yet
Maybe I'll never come home
And I'll burn myself down to the terrifying ground
You can carry my ashes around with you
He who makes a beast of himself
Gets rid of the pain of being a man
I want money and girls and time to waste
I want a scar in my beard and a bushel of class As
I want to see them wear my necklace of pearls
I want to stay up for days as my life unfurls
He who makes a beast of himself
Gets rid of the pain of being a man
He who makes a beast of himself
Gets rid of the pain, gets rid of the man
Gets rid of the pain, gets rid of the man