Three Chords, Yeah, They're Yours

We Stole Them From Your Bottom Drawer

Sixteen Strings Or Something

Yeah, Don't Listen, 'cause We Stole Everything

Yeah, It's True, We Got It From You

Don't Worry, Man, There's Nothing New

Stay Outside

There's Nothing In Here That You Would Call Alive

With Your Own Little Shoes On Your Own Little Feet

You'll Never Win Or Lose On Your Own Little Street

When You're Suckin' On Your Thumb And It's All Goin' Numb

And You're Looking In The Mirror And You're Looking So Dumb

Well, Don't Expect My Invitation To Come

In Your Own Little Can Where You Cut Out The Noise

You're Too Busy Spittin' Out Mouthwash

Too Busy Spittin' Out Your Own Voice

You Keep Saying, "I've Got A Car Outside"

Well, If That's True, Child, Go Take A Ride