People in tall buildings scurry round and round
They're making news. I bet, um, let's say
Pound for pound their lives feel so confused
Roving, wandering postmen drift from town to town
Their brains mush, like an, um, let's say
Pound and ground from a sumo wrestling judo master
Why do I always feel like a judo master's punching bag?
Feel like a combat pilot on the rag?
Feel like a tackling dummy covered in worn-out pads?
I checked into clinics just to do the rounds
Like a boxer
In an assless gown that hid my feeding tube
Barely past a week until I found some rounds
Of ammo in an, um, let's say
Lost and found, and put them in that judo master, yeah.