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.

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