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