Lyrics:

A song about the “pretty serious stalker problem” that the band faced in this era of their career
Drive down the street, can't find the keys to my own fuckin' home
I'll take a walk so I could curse my ass for bein' dumb
I'll make a right, after the arches, stinking grease and bone
Stopped at the supermarket, people stare like I'm a dog

I'm goin' to Lukin's
I've got a spot at Lukin's
I knocked the door at Lukin's
Open the fridge, now I know life is worth

I found the key, but I return to find an open door
Some fuckin' freak who claims I fathered, by rape, her own son
I find my wife, I call the cops, this days work's never done
The last I heard that freak was purchasin' a fuckin' gun