So your old man went and called you a degenerate bum
And you stood there crackin' on your cinnamon gun
And your Ma was knockin' at your sister's brains
And you couldn't help thinkin' what she hoped to gainJust then that freak walked in the door
And knocked me to the floor
You said, hey man, you're on some kind of trip
He said, don't give me no lipJust turn it down, come on turn it down
I can't take no more of that God awful sound
So for God's sake turn it downNow the suspicious minds of your learned friends
Will eat away at your kind 'til the music ends
And the creep that taught you everything you know
Will hypocritically ask you what the hell you know
He'll go out and mess around, then go home without a sound
You said, hey man, you're some kinda monk
He said, listen here you punkJust turn it down, come on turn it down
I can't take no more of that God awful sound
So for God's sake turn it downTurn it down, just turn it down
Come on turn it down, I said turn it down
Come on turn it down, just turn it down
I can't take no more of that God awful sound
So for God's sake turn it down
Songwriters
CHAPMAN, MICHAEL DONALD / CHINN, NICHOLAS BARRYPublished by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.