Outragous Cat Disorder

One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three
One, two, three

You hold the gun to my head
Running down the quiet blood red

Every trigger has my twitch
And clean up my new condition
You skin it off my bones
And the soul with the bone
Aren't just what to take
Count, count, count to I'll take

You laugh with the gun to my head
No time for you to spare to check
Every trigger has my twitch
And clean up my new condition
You rip it off my bones
And the soul with the bone
Aren't just what to take
Count, count, count to I'll take

I'ma fuck it all up
Put the gun up to my brain and erase all my dialogues
You got off on my check

Yeah, I get it, this is what they all want
I'll be shooting up my killing gun
You could say I'm spiritual, maybe even lyrical
I'm inside your head and I'm giving you visuals
Fight your greatest fear that's even unimaginable
All because you know that you are so impressionable
You know I'm not real like the gun in my hand
No trigger, no express, and you still follow commands
You don't believe me but you do what I say
You know I'm not real but I'm inside of your head

You hold the gun to my head
Running down the quiet blood red

Every trigger has my twitch
And clean up my new condition
You skin it off my bones
And the soul with the bone
Aren't just what to take
Count, count, count to I'll take

You laugh with the gun to my head
No time for you to spare to check
Every trigger has my twitch
And clean up my new condition
You rip it off my bones
And the soul with the bone
Aren't just what to take
Count, count, count to I'll take

Am I stuck like this?
How can I move on like this?

I'm tired, I'm tired

I wish I'm fucking dead
I guess it's all I've ever done is make a mess again
There's not enough to do
There's too much to consume

I'm not enough, I'm not enough, I'm not enough
Presume running up the numbers
Give my thoughts a new extension
Six shots got from the revolver
It's my lucky number seven
Rolling, wheeling, dealing, fishing
I'm repelling from my breath
Hope the coroner can see there's a new god up in my flesh
Gotta think of my friends
See me as a slim machine

I don't have a soul but I can say I'm fucking god to me

You hold the gun to my head
Running down the quiet blood red

Every trigger has my twitch
And clean up my new condition
You skin it off my bones
And the soul with the bone
Aren't just what to take
Count, count, count to I'll take

You laugh with the gun to my head
No time for you to spare to check
Every trigger has my twitch
And clean up my new condition
You rip it off my bones
And the soul with the bone
Aren't just what to take
Count, count, count to I'll take