Fry your eggs on me...

One could say that we're all a dime a dozen.

One could say "We're all just dust in the wind".

But then again, I'd vote for "'jest'".

More than likely, we're all some cruel joke,
Some aftermath of slovenliness of cosmic Creation.
Plastered across the wreckage reads a sign
That says
"Don't step on the grass; that's reserved for the slime."

So don't put your label on me,
Put it on your videogames
And the CDs you try so hard
To keep people from stealing.

I'm not your whore,
Or my own, I'll take it
If you'll just leave me alone.

And quit breaking into my car,
You fucking assholes.