Indie boys are neurotic -- makes my eyes bleed.
Tight black pants, exotic -- some loving is what I need.
But, hey, I'm startin' to feel okay.
Lucky number nine, hooray.
Sepia on the staircase -- mirror in the back of my brain.
Makes these hard pants feel great -- I used to like to complain.
But, hey, I'm startin' to feel okay.
Lucky number nine, hooray.
Bloody Mary, mother of god -- Grandpa's on the hobby horse again.
Tamping, broken pants chaffing -- I'm running out of ethnic friends.
But, hey, I'm startin' to feel okay.
Lucky number nine, hooray.
