I wish I could pick up a vice to cope
with these volatile moods
I guess cigarettes and coffee just don't kill me like you do
Every time I comb my hand through my hair
half of it comes loose
You were looking at your feet
when I was looking for an excuse

So I'll roll up my right sleeve and hope that I don't seize
‘Cause my left arm's numb and everything tastes like Reds
Yeah, you fucked me up way
more than anything else could have

You are the tar in my lungs, in my veins
in my taste and on my breath
“Another day, another dose” has got me feeling comatose
now. And nothing you could say or do
or I don't even know is gonna cut it
Now that the withdrawal has kicked in
and I'm just begging for one more hit
Everything tastes like Reds