I know you, your poster
Hangs over my bed
I lose weight and I can’t
Get you outta my head

Yeah, I'm striving for your stare
Sunglasses, please, don't match your hair
So pull them off and throw back your bang
A metalhead is gonna hit the chart

Could I suppose your fashion style
Will laugh at me at the final point?
How could I light your cigarette
If I knew you were scoring goals?

Oh, I'm sure God damns the studs
The uppish ones will burn in hell
The others should be sapped by brats
Sweep the rest and you'll make a brand

Your posh car and finery
Are your edges of death
So let me melt in you
My rock-bottomed fate

My gothic shit will not override
The mainstream music plugged in your ears
Your collection is your sweet desire
And I deserve just a can of beer