It was the summer of '95 (so what?!),
in the backyard, shaving the old plies.
Feeling so strong, something went wrong.
Straight into my finger, what a stinger, it was so long.

I still remember that day,
like the day that I said that I swear,
"I'll never hurt myself again",
but it seems that I'm deemed to be wrong,
to be wrong, to be wrong.
So i've got to keep holding on...
they always played a slow song.
When they come for me,
I'll be sitting at my desk,
with a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest.
Singing "my, my, my, how the time does fly,
when you know you're going to die by the end of the night."
I still remember when we were young and fragile then.
No one gave a shit about us because times were tougher then.
Feeling so good, cruising the hood;
straight into the real world, rich kids never understood.
But I don't care. I can fade away to anywhere.
Don't stop because you might get dropped and if
you do who's going to pick you up.
Well I won't... they always played a slow song.

When they come for me,
I'll be sitting at my desk,
with a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest.
Singing "my, my, my, how the time does fly,
when you know you're going to die by the end of the night."

When they come for me,
I'll be sitting at my desk,
with a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest.
My, my, my, how the time does fly,
when you know you're going to die by the end of the night.
(3 times)