Lyrics:

The stock is empty in our eyeball store

All we got left, a few cataracts and sores

The faggot mimic machine never had an ides

Mission impossible, they self destruct on fear

On a standard N.Y. night ghouls go to see their so called 'stars'

A fairly stupid thing, to pay five bucks for a 4th rate imitation



They say:' I'm so empty, no surface, no depth

Oh please, can't I be you, your personality's so great.'

Like new buildings, square, tall and the same

Sorry, Miss Stupid, didn't you know it was a game

I'm just waiting for them to hurry up and die

It's really getting to crowed here

Help me N.Y. stars



Contributions accepted all the same

We need new people store

Remember, we're very good at games