Oh, I’m so agitated, so agitated
Run through a washing machine, agitated
I’m so agitated, I’m so convoluted
I don’t know what I know, but I’d just like to shoot it
It’s five a.m. and I’m crawling the walls, waiting for imaginary telephone calls
You know what I think, I think the whole world stinks, and I don’t need no shrink, I just hate it
Sometimes I think I’d be better off dead, just like my cousin Fred