Turn Those Clapping Hands Into Angry Balled Fists

Turn Those Clapping Hands Into Angry Balled Fists
Sleep on pillows made is Singapore
Wrapped in comforters
Sweatin' through sheets
Drinkin' coffee in the morning
Floatin' on Airplanes across the vast seas
And your house is made of wood
Central air, central heat
You got your furniture on particle board
Your doors are locked for, for safety

And your walkin' around in shoes
Pants of denim, a black cotton sweatshirt
And you do what you do
because doing, you start to form a habit
And you drink all night long
And you sleep through the morning
And if something doesn't break
I'm just gonna go, go fucking insane
And you sweep up the floor when its dirty
You do the dishes, when the sinks full
And when the refrigerators empty
well its time its time its time, its time to go the store
You put your books on a shelf
Clothes arranged in the closet
You hang the things on the wall that you don't want to be so easily forgotten
I hate these songs
I hate the words
That the singer is singin' to me
I hate this melody
I hate this stupid fucking drum beat
But I'm not gonna tell anyone
What I'm really thinking about
Keep the conversations on the surface
Just keep on smiling
Just keep on saying
Everything's gonna be alright

[Repeat: x2]
It's gonna be alright
Alright