So your old man went and called you a degenerate bum
And you stood there cracking on your cinnamon gun
And your Ma was knockin` at your sister`s brains
And you couldn`t help thinkin` what she hoped to gain.
Just then that freak walked in the door
Knocked me on the floor. You said: Hey man
You`re on some kind of trip? He said:
Don`t give me no lip. Just 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 down.
Now the suspicious mindn of your learned friends
Will eat away at your kind till the music ends.
And the creep that taught you ev`ry thing you know
Will hyprocritic`lly ask you what the hell you know.
He`ll go out and mess you around
Then go home without a sound
you said: Hey man
You`re some kinda honk? He said:
Listen
you`re a punk. Turn it down.
Come on
turn it down
. . .