Chris Kael from Five Finger Death Punch: Telling On Himself Since Day One

 

Pretty Much Every Fitness Influencer Gym Bro Macho Man Yada Yada Yada

 

Jimmy Kimmel vs. Sean Hannity

 

Zoltan Bathory from Five Finger Death Punch

 

Hardcore Holly

 

Garrison vs. Miguel (YouTube Troll)

 

DIY

VERSE 1: INTERNET TROLL

“Your writing’s so awful, I wish you’d stop

Crimes against humanity, I’ll call the cops

Your books get mentioned in the Geneva Conventions

They’re torture, I’ll call for an Executive Order”

 

CHORUS 1

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

Come over to my home and ring the doorbell

You better be packing a rocket launcher

Or I’ll enslave you, make you my salad tosser

You’d never risk getting decked in the mouth

You’d never risk getting your tongue pulled out

Keyboard courage doesn’t amount to shit

Dish it out all you want, but you can’t take it

 

VERSE 2: RED PILLER

“I can’t get laid, ‘cause her legs ain’t shaved

Neither are her pits or the nipples on her tits

Every female should look like Wonder Woman

And have a personality so bland and wooden”

 

CHORUS 2

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

Jack it off, jack it raw for your prostate health

Ain’t nobody going to do it for you

Especially when your hobby is going “pew-pew”

At a high school or a gay rights march

Or a feminist meeting without a patriarch

You got a four-wheel drive playing Kid Rock live

But you got no soul, that’s why you can’t find a hole

 

VERSE 3: POLITICIAN

“I’ll rattle my saber until you do me a favor

Drop to your knees as you try to appease

Kiss my ass until the end of time

Or I’ll lock you up for your treasonous crime”

 

CHORUS 3

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

Stop hiding behind all your status and wealth

Put your working boots on and let’s get it on

Don’t tell me you’re right, show you’re not wrong

But chickening out is what you do best

And you couldn’t pass a military psych test

Run for the hills, take your Ivermectin pills

Or better yet, cyanide to melt your insides

 

OUTRO

You want something done right, you got to do it yourself

The punk movement said it, yet you somehow forget it

“They’re all too woke and they’re all going soft”

Yet you’re so tough that you hide behind the cops

Hide behind ICE while you pay the price

For your FAFO moment, you refuse to own it

You’re a sheep on the farm being led to slaughter

Shave off your wool, put it on the king’s daughter

Bone Popping Good Time

The Eastern European Chihuahua known as Ren shivered and trembled as he stepped into the waiting room, his feline friend Stimpy guiding him by the arm. Stimpy patted his bestie on the head, which did very little to stop the fearful convulsing. “There there, Ren. You’ll be okay. It’s just a little adjustment to help you out. You’ll feel nothing at all.”

Salt water welled up in Ren’s puffy red eyes. “I…I don’t want to go the chiropractor!”

“It’ll be okay, Ren. He even works with little children.” Stimpy waved his hand across the room to reveal small children who were shaking as hard as he was while their Karen moms read magazines and ignored the red flags.

Ren and Stimpy took seats in the lobby with the rest of the patients, Stimpy picking up a copy of Playboy magazine and picking his nose while “reading it for the articles”. The red flags were already a darker shade than Stimpy’s fur and nobody but the children and Ren seemed to care.

And then…the waiting room shook harder than any fearful patient ever could. Thunderous footsteps crunched and crashed behind the main office door. The children tried to get up and run, but most of them were on leashes held in place by the willfully ignorant mothers. Ren clung onto Stimpy’s arm for support and only let go when he realized his friend was still reading the copy of Playboy (in a family practice).

The door swung open and a hulking monster of a man stared out into the waiting room arms akimbo. His medicine ball muscles were barely able to be contained by his tight polo shirt and yuppie khakis. His military crew cut and square jaw caused the color to fade from Ren and the children’s faces, giving away a Navy SEAL drill sergeant vibe that had no place in the world of chiropractics.

He thudded and tromped across the floor, making kids cry along the way, still to the concern of nobody, least of all the parents. The chiropractor towered over a curled up Ren, held out his hand, and introduced himself. “Howdy, little guy! I’m Dr. Dennis Hanover! Nice to meet you!” Ren reluctantly accepted the handshake, which produced the sound of glass shattering as Dr. Hanover squeezed like he was making orange juice. When he let go, Ren’s now much bigger pink hand throbbed and pulsated. “Right this way, buddy!”

The ogre-like Dennis and the twerpy gnome Ren headed back to the office together, Stimpy smiling and waving like it was a final goodbye of sorts. Ren gulped as the door was slammed and bolted shut behind him. The chiropractic table looked comfortable enough with vinyl padding, but the skeletal models surrounding the room looked like something from a horror franchise. Ren’s knees knocked together as a rumbling in his tummy sounded like it could shoot off ammunition out of the wrong end at any moment.

Dennis patted the table and waved Ren over. “Come on, it’ll be fine. I promise you’ll feel like a million bucks afterwards.” The tan Chihuahua crawled to the table as though he was dead long before any adjustments took place. His once clear complexion was now icy blue. And then Dr. Hanover gave him gentle karate chops across his spine, playing him like a glockenspiel of sorts. Ren started to relax and the color was coming back to his face. Dennis kneaded his back like pizza dough and his patient nearly fell asleep on the table.

“Breathe in…and out…” After Ren did as he was told, Dr. Hanover pressed down on his spine and made his office sound like a war zone complete with bombs and machineguns going off.

The hard adjustment caused Ren to jump up and scream his head off, the background morphing into spotted colors with each successive yell. One long scream, two short ones, and one long one again until he was almost out of breath. Ren rushed to the door trying to escape while Dennis held onto his ears. The Chihuahua even pounded on the door with his fists and begged, “Let me out of here! Open the door! Please let me out! Somebody! HELP!”

Dennis finally detached Ren from the doorknob and the door wiggled like a piece of rubber. Dr. Hanover then held his patient down with skin-reddening force and duct taped his mouth shut. Ren used both hands to try to regain his first amendment rights, but the tape was too strong and all he could do afterwards was surrender and shake some more.

“Hold still, little guy. We’ve still got more work to do. It’ll only take a second.” Dennis clutched Ren’s head and snapped his neck in both directions. The Chihuahua’s muffled screams still managed to echo off the walls and knock over some artwork. His neck pulsated and thumped on both sides like a dying heartbeat. And then Dr. Hanover pulled Ren’s fingers, making his joints sound like a pistol duel. His toes sounded like those pistols were upgraded to AR-15’s. His wrists sounded like his chiropractor walked on a snowfield of broken glass.

“One more adjustment! You’re doing great!” As Ren continued to try to free himself from the gag, Dennis pulled out a black leather Y-strap and secured it around Ren’s head. The Chihuahua could do nothing but shake his head as his final plea for help. “Relax your shoulders, and…” Dennis yanked on the Y-strap and every single bone in Ren’s body popped and crackled with deafening volume. The duct tape could no longer muffle Ren’s screams, for he did it so loudly this time that the gag floated through the air into the garbage can. After his last rallying cry, Ren did a literal cry as his entire body melted into a slimy tan puddle.

“There we go! All set! You did great, little buddy!” Dennis patted Ren’s head a little too roughly, nearly giving him a concussion and almost liquefying that part of his body too.

Ren slithered and slimed back into the waiting room while his chiropractor got the table ready for his next patient. The children watched him make his defeated reentry with wide tearful eyes themselves. Stimpy finally stopped picking his nose long enough to notice. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing….”

“How come you’re sad?”

“I’m fine….”

“You don’t sound fine….You look like you’re about to cry…”

And cry he did. The pain was so horrible and so fiery that Ren thought he had died and gone to hell. In reality, hell was already on earth and Dr. Hanover was the devil. The square-jawed military nut marched out into the waiting room and sat next to Ren on the floor. “There there, little pup. I know just the thing that’ll help you. When my dad caught my crying like a girl, he gave me some words of wisdom I still carry to this day. ‘You know, son…Japan had an earthquake…Haiti had an earthquake…Australia had a wildfire…California had a wildfire…and you’re sitting there whining about life?’”.

“Hey, that’s mean,” said Stimpy with saucer eyes.

“Mean? Nah, that wasn’t mean. I gave your boyfriend a bone popping good time back there. He’ll man up in no time at all.”

“B…boyfriend?”

“Yeah, boyfriend! I knew you two were Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell violators the minute you walked through the door. You looked like you were taking him to the prom with your arm around him.”

As Stimpy and the subsequent children cried at the remarks, Ren’s slimy puddle form started to bubble like a pot of spaghetti, though his regenerating limbs were anything but spaghetti. For the longest time, he didn’t feel like his old self, which was why he came to the chiropractor to begin with. He was too scared to be the villain Stimpy knew and loved (in whatever way he wanted to). But that anxiety turned to skin-purpling anger. Steam blew out of his ears. His body returned to its strong roots. He smiled for the first time in his many depressive weeks, but not out of happiness. This was pure psychosis fueling him like diesel.

“Uh-oh…” said Dennis the minute he realized he knew he fucked up.

Ren jumped on his chiropractor’s back and twisted his neck in a direction it was never meant to go, an obvious mockery of that genre of medicine. Dennis screamed while Ren taunted him. “JAPAN WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” Ren bent Dennis’s legs into reverse L shapes. “HAITI WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” He bent Dr. Hanover’s fingers off to the sides. “AUSTRALIA HAD WILDFIRES!” In his final “therapeutic adjustment”, Ren popped Dennis’s penis and testicles, which weren’t supposed to have joints in the first place. “CALIFORNIA HAD WILDFIRES! And you’re bitching about life?”

Gone were the days of macho muscles and towering ogre presences. In their place was a broken heap of screaming sticks with a garnish of waterfall tears, still known as Dr. Dennis Hanover, a name which was probably going to be carved into his tombstone sooner or later. The children’s sprinting momentum dragged the chairs their Karen mothers were sitting in by the leashes. Some mothers held on for dear life while others fell on their butts. Those that did the latter chased after their children with whiny demands and shaking fists.

Now it was Stimpy’s turn to convulse in pants-wetting fear. But since he was a cat who didn’t wear pants, the biological sludge stained the floor and mixed with Dennis Hanover’s broken remains. Ren patted his friend on the back and said, “I feel great, Stimpy! You were right! We should come here more often!” Stimpy swallowing a lump in his throat and out of his ass was the surefire sign that Ren was back in all of his glory. Chiropractic medicine was truly the stuff of gods, provided that god was one who worshiped destruction and war. “Let’s go home!”

Easy Kill

 CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 1

You got your black belt in Brazilian jujitsu

From a guy who teaches class on French ninjitsu

You’re the master of the art of Mexican kung fu

But when you ask for a medal, they say, “Fuck you!”

The only ring that you’ve ever been inside

Was the one that made your cock stand up with pride

Your chin is made of glass, knocked out on your ass

You’re the same as every slacker in junior high gym class

CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 2

You have thousands of confirmed kills in the army

But you had a bazooka, they had rakes for farming

I bet if I melted down your precious combat medals

I couldn’t buy a candy bar or coffee for the kettle

I’d pay for your medicine, but you voted against it

Because you want to be a good Confederate descendant

What’re you going to do when your leg snaps in half

When you run a marathon from your problematic past?

CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

VERSE 3

Your life is like an arcade continuation screen

You’ve got ten seconds to put more coins in the machine

But even with another life, fighting games don’t teach

All the macho manliness that you love to fucking preach

EXTENDED CHORUS

Everyone’s a badass ‘til they’re lying on their backs

Every Chad is beefy ‘til he’s eaten like a snack

Taking you out will hardly require any skill

In the end, you’re nothing but an easy kill

Everyone’s undefeated until they lose clean

From a head kick turned horror movie scene

Everyone’s a champion ‘til the belt is gone

An easy kill like you could never last long

Fuck Your Truck

I’ve got all of my tools on the shelf

I’m doing all of this shit for myself

Going to work on your oversized truck

Is this illegal? Who gives a flying fuck?

Splash paint on your precious machine

Take my keys and write something mean

Smash the windows with a baseball bat

Stab your tires until they’re fucking flat

Rip off your Trump-supporting stickers

Is this enough to make you feel triggered?

Piss in your gas tank, fill it to the top

Cover your seats with sewage and slop

Punch out your side-view mirrors

In case the message doesn’t get clearer

Flip the heavy motherfucker on its side

There goes your final symbol of pride

I can hear your CD’s crunch and crack

Every Kyle anthem and bonus track

Come see the work of art I created

This is what happens when you’re hated

Tears in your eyes, my ultimate prize

Watching you cry in front of your guys

You can throw a punch or grab your gun

You’re still the biggest pussy under the sun

All the macho madness was an act

All the bad karma finally came back

The fights you’ve started, slurs you’ve said

Other people’s girlfriends in your bed

Showing your ass and flashing your dick

Telling ordinary women to suck your prick

Catcalling out on the streets at night

Destroying your truck only felt right

You didn’t need a vehicle any damn way

You’d drunk drive that shit into the bay

Be thankful for what I’ve done, my man

Go back inside and be Trapt’s favorite Stan

Dude Bros

VERSE 1

Dude Bros are pretty, Dude Bros are good

Seems that all they’ve ever wanted was a Monster

Chads are having hot sex, just like they should

Seems that all the Single Pringles need a martyr

CHORUS 1

This is a call to all the pickup tuckers

And cheerleader fuckers

This is a call to all the rap metal bangers

And crystal meth takers

VERSE 2

Kyles are pretty, Kyles are cool

Seems that all they ever wanted was some Death Punch

Karens are like Kyles, but they’re just old school

They say, “Let me speak to your manager” way too much

CHORUS 2

This is a call to all the valor thieves

“Freedom is not free!”

This is a call to all the armchair quarterbacks

“Alternative facts!”

VERSE 3

Kevins are pretty, Kevins are loud

Seems that all they ever wanted was a handgun

Landons are rich kids, Landons are proud

Egos are so big, they think they’ll get a fandom

CHORUS 3

This is a call to all the manly tough guys

Draft dodgers in disguise

This is a call to all the MMA wing nuts

Tapped out to a paper cut

This is a call to all the mansplainers

Whiny complainers

This is a call to all the Dudely Dude Bros

And their bigoted prose

Tap Out Like a Bitch

OPENING LINE

Shinbone to the dome when your mama ain’t home!

VERSE 1

I see you standing across from me

A flying knee to put you to sleep

A chokehold to cut you so deep

No more breaths, your soul flies free

It’s been coming for so damn long

Think being a bully makes you strong?

Kick you hard right in the dong

Make you sing a soprano song

CHORUS

Tap out like a bitch! X2

VERSE 2

Giving black belts to pricks like you

Setting the bar lower than your shoes

Sell your medal for a buck and some change

Buy one Band-Aid for your sham pain

I’ve got nothing to prove, Mr. UFC

I’m an open book, yeah, you know me

You’re the one with the big façade

Telling everybody you’re a kind of god

CHORUS

Tap out like a bitch! X4

BRIDGE

Take the loser’s purse before it gets worse

Walk the exit ramp and take in the laughs

Do your interviews, make the world snooze

What’s your latest and greatest excuse?

EXTENDED CHORUS

Tap out like a bitch!

Feel every little stitch!

Go the fuck to sleep!

Watch your kids weep!

Tap out like a bitch!

Scream your highest pitch!

Undisputed, my ass!

Putting you on blast!

Tap! Out! Like! A! Bitch!

Escape From Chehalis

***ESCAPE FROM CHEHALIS***

“You’ve escaped from New York! You’ve escaped from Cleveland! But this is LA!”

Yes, that is a direct quote from the movie “Escape from LA” back in the 90’s. But I have to ask: is it really that hard to escape from Cleveland, Ohio? Well, if I had a hard time escaping from Chehalis as a teenager, then the answer must have been yes. It’s true. With my screenwriting skills at the time, I could have written a movie called Escape From Chehalis. Actually, it wouldn’t have been very exciting since all I had to do was move to an apartment in Bremerton and go to school in Silverdale. But hey, as long as the best part of Chehalis is leaving, let’s explore some other routes I considered. Those of you who know about my Chehalis past know that I was bullied in high school, so getting out of that toxic town was good for me. But what if I needed an earlier exit? What high school dropout careers could I have embarked on to give me a parole from that rightwing dystopia? Well…

***ARENA OF DEATH***

It’s probably no surprise that I had an extreme fascination with death back in 1999/2000. I wanted to rent the first volume of Faces of Death, but the video store clerk wouldn’t let me because I was only fourteen at the time. It’s unbelievable…video stores actually existed back then! It would have been so nice to see one of my movies on the shelf, particularly an idea I had called Arena of Death. I could drop out of school, grab a camera, and film a bunch of gory fight scenes in an abandoned building. That’s basically what Arena of Death was supposed to be: an ECW-esque tournament where the winner…uh…actually, I hadn’t figured out a prize for the winner yet. If only I had a working video camera and friends who would volunteer for this movie. Oh well.

***BOUNTY HUNTER***

As a result of my verbal bullying, I got in a lot of fights and I won most of them simply by throwing one strike. I didn’t need a KO victory or even a TKO. Just one strike and it was all over. Having this kind of Goldberg-esque undefeated streak under my belt (which is easy to obtain in Chehalis), I actually considered a career as a bounty hunter. No shit! Just go around Washington state bringing criminals in with my fists and feet of fury. Hell, there was even a time when I considered entering a tough man competition; that’s how confident I was in my minimal fighting skills. Little did I know that most of the bounty heads might have carried guns or knives, neither of which I had in great supply (even though I one time asked for a gun for Christmas).

***EXTREME CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING***

Yes, I did mention ECW earlier in this blog. Yes, being the “tough guy” I was, I thought a career in that wrestling promotion was the right move for me, as opposed to finishing school in Chehalis. That’s basically like saying, “I’d rather get cut open with razor wire or power bombed through a fiery table than go to school in Chehalis”. Haha! But seriously, ECW was a huge source of creative fuel for me back in the day (before they closed their doors permanently in 2001). Weapons were fair game, anybody could beat up anybody, blood was liberally splattered everywhere, and hardcore legends were born. Although, verbal bullying could never prepare me for actual broken bones and slashed skin. Plus, ECW was based in Philadelphia, so if I couldn’t afford a video camera for Arena of Death, I damn sure couldn’t afford a plane ticket across the country.

***FLORIDA***

Yes, it’s true, folks! Back in 2000, my mom got a job offer in Florida and I was secretly hoping that she would get it and get my ass out of Chehalis. Boy, you talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire! Knowing what we now know about Florida, that’s basically like trying to get away from Jeffrey Dahmer by hiding out on John Wayne Gacy’s crawlspace. I didn’t care about politics in the year 2000, but I probably should have since Florida is as red as ECW bloodbaths. School shootings, racist murders, Carl Hiaasen novel scenarios, natural disasters, crocodiles, good god!

***GUITARIST***

From 1996 to 2001, I practiced on an acoustic and later an electric guitar with the hopes that I’d be as good as David Gilmour from Pink Floyd. Starting my own rock band was the surefire way to get out of high school and I’d be doing something I loved. Except for one thing: I didn’t love playing the guitar. It was hard. It was fucking hard! Moving my fingers across the frets with lightning speed wasn’t my cup of tea, which is funny since I can do it just fine when I’m writing things on a computer keyboard. I would often play really slowly with the top string and only my middle finger holding the frets. Configuring my digits into chord positions was too much to handle and I eventually gave up that potential exit from Chehalis. Any more mediocrity and I’d have to smash my guitar to pieces like Billie Joe Armstrong did at the iHeart Radio Festival in 2012, when Green Day’s stage time was cut short.

***SUPER FINAL FANTASY***

Before settling on a career in screenwriting, my childhood dream job used to be creating videogames and one of them was Super Final Fantasy. I was in love with Final Fantasy VII and VIII, so naturally I wanted to give my own shot into creating a game in the series. My main character was a shotgun-wielding, trench coat-wearing teenager (don’t look for themes here) named Sage Gannon, who was out to avenge the death of his coal miner father. Guiding his path would be the fluffy blond haired swordsman Minra Durandose (if Cloud and Squall had a love child, it’d be Minra). The token female love interest (I didn’t know it was wrong!) was a bikini-wearing mystical goddess named Siren, who used a combination of seduction and harp playing to lull enemies into defenselessness (again, I didn’t know it was wrong!). Development was going swimmingly until Squall appeared in my head as a schizophrenic voice and told me to, “Write [my] own shit and stop copying other people.” Thanks, Squall. Great advice from a guy who can’t figure out how to trust people.

***UNDERTAKER***

Remember how I told you all I had a weird fascination with death? Well, try not to read too much into this, but I actually considered a dropout career of burying dead bodies at the local cemetery. Before you ask, no, I wasn’t planning on murdering my bullies and giving them their own graves. I’m not that sick. Hehe! No, being an undertaker is a legitimate career. And when I say undertaker, I’m not talking about the WWE wrestler who at the time was doing a satanic cult storyline. Yes, digging holes is physically exhausting for someone as small I was back then, but a paycheck is a paycheck and a lack of high school hostility is just that.

***CONCLUSION***

You’re probably reading all of these potential career choices and are worried sick about me. You’re probably thinking that I’m living in the past and refusing to let go of my demons. You couldn’t be further from the truth. My most recent blog entries have been about my childhood follies, so this one is no different. I’m glad I finished school and became an indie author. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Knowing what I now know about schizophrenia and autism, I most likely wouldn’t have survived these alternative careers. Every career has its own set of assholes and friendly people. Running away wouldn’t have solved anything. No matter where you go, you take your baggage with you. Only through claiming responsibility and seeking help can you overcome your problems. I’ve overcome my demons and I’m better for it. It took a long time to do, but it happened. Live your life without regrets. If you must delve into the past, find things to laugh about, not things to kick yourself over. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“So you think you’re a Romeo playing a part in a picture show. Take the long way home. ‘Cause you’re the joke of your neighborhood. Why should you care if you’re feeling good? Take the long way home. But there are times that you feel you’re part of the scenery. All the greenery is coming down, boy. And then your wife seems to think you’re a part of the furniture. Oh, it’s peculiar. She used to be so nice. When lonely days turn to lonely nights, you take a trip to the city lights. Take the long way home. You never see what you want to see forever playing to the gallery. Take the long way home. And when you’re up on the stage, it’s so unbelievable. Oh, unforgettable how they adore you. But then your wife seems to think you’re losing your sanity. Oh, calamity, there’s no way out. Does it feel that your life’s become a catastrophe? Oh, it has to be for you to grow, boy. When you look through the years and see what you could have been. Oh, what you might have been. If you’d had more time. So when the day comes to settle down, who’s to blame if you’re not around? Take the long way home.”

-Supertramp singing “Take the Long Way Home”-

Twitter Tough Guy

VERSE 1

Seven feet tall, built like a brick wall

Tougher opponents can’t be found at all

A black belt or higher in every martial art

Military training so you can do your part

But your greatest weapon isn’t a pistol

Or a flamethrower to make me sizzle

You pack a punch with a Twitter account

Talk in all caps just to make shit loud

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 2

Lift five hundred pounds at the gym

Flirt with a chick in shorts named Kim

Eat protein bars, drive gas-guzzling cars

Take your selfies like a Twitter rock star

Send your dick pics to random women

Show them the erection you’ve been given

You talk so much, yet have nothing to say

The schedule of your meaningless days

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 3

Shoot your favorite gun just for fucking fun

Mounted on a jeep that weighs a hundred tons

Take a picture that will last until forever

Dare the Twitterverse to find something better

How about buckwheat pancakes with agave nectar?

Especially when they shoot right out of my rectum?

Rebecca Black songs are more exciting than you

You face your victims and don’t know what to do

EXTENDED CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

Twitter boy toy! Who shall you annoy?!

Twitter Romeo! Why don’t you blow me-o!

Twitter Casanova! This is your magnum opus!

Twitter tough guy! Your whole life is a lie!

Balls

CHORUS

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

VERSE 1

You talk forever like it’s a real exercise

Working your jaw muscles by telling lies

That shit’s got to be made out of iron

You think you’ve got balls the size of tires?

You’re shaking and shivering like it’s winter

Your only true pain is like a wooden splinter

You’re no different from the rest of the chickens

Running away when it’s time for ass-kickings

EXTENDED CHORUS

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to run this town!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

Cacophony is your greatest sound!

Ugh!

VERSE 2

You’ve got your AK-47 locked and loaded

Your hair trigger temper has all but exploded

You’ve got a belt of grenades around your waist

You rush into battle with a zealot’s kind of haste

You throw your life away over temporary anger

Throw yourself in front of unnecessary danger

You’ve got some shrinkage and it’s not laundry

You can’t axe your way out of your own quandary

EXTENDED CHORUS 2

You don’t have the balls to shoot me down!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to watch me drown!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

You don’t have the balls to ground and pound!

Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!

Check for your nuts in the lost and found!

Rah!

BRIDGE

You don’t wear the pants, but you wear the G-string

Cutting your ass off until you’re no longer breathing

You don’t wear the colors, because they run

Shutting you up will be a lot of fucking fun!

Balls! Balls! Balls! BALLS!