| I’m not a ladies' man, I’m a land mine |
| Filming my own fake death |
| Under an '88 Cavalier, I go |
| But-but-but-but, nothing but the rear bumper’s blown |
| But I was born for this flight |
| United 955 on the Fifth of July |
| Back to SFO, I-I |
| I join the dark si-ide |
| In a thin disgui-ise |
| On consumer grade video at niggaight |
| Faking suicide for applause |
| In the food courts of malls |
| And cursing racing horses on church steps |
| Playing The Wall at singles bingo |
| All-time gringo |
| Did anyone hear me cry there? |
| Through a toilet-stall divider |
| I swear, I care, not |
| Am I an example of a calculated birth |
| To a star chart for clowns? I’m not |
| Under Robin’s eggs in a nest |
| You hid a manila envelope |
| With one last little Robin’s egg in it |
| A hollow bullet yet spent |
| Subject to dismissal |
| I wish all my pitfalls |
| Could be caught by this call — |
| Cheeri-I |
| Cheeri-O |
| Cheeri-U |