Just like a missile I'm about to go ballistic and explode
On people who push my buttons that have no labels
So the wrong one could make me malfunction
I'm just a piece of junk to a junkman which means I might be gold
Because one mans trash is another mans treasure I do this for pleasure
Even though right now I wouldn't be pretty pleased even with a cherry on top
Save the fruit and give me some spinach so I can be like Popeye
And I feel sorry for whoever wants to be Bluto because I've always liked olives
But not olive oil or oil of any kind since gas is so expensive
Plus my bank account is as flat as a pancake with barely enough money for breakfast
If the best things in life were free then I'd be a millionaire by that philosophy
So please enjoy the tour of my theoretical mansion that has more rooms then I could even think of
Maybe I think too much and should relax myself like a massage chair
Only thinking about how good it feels
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