Look at you, you brag. You think the end is coming fast.
Grab your guitar and write your savior song.
This planet is in such shitty shape
That you're pushed to write a song or your heart will break.
Like anyone'll notice or even blink when the taxman comes around.

Quit hiding, if the end is coming
(Apocalyptic Dipstick)
You sure wouldn't know it from your passive strummin'
(Apocalyptic Dipstick)
Quit runnin', if the end is coming
(Apocalyptic Dipstick)
Write your songs with all conviction,
Long as you know no one's listening.

You've got your list of rules, like your teacher back at your old school.
Grab your #2, it's time to sharpen up again.
The only problem is you're draggin' your ass.
Like a teacher in the summer, you got no class.
The test you're given you can't even pass.
Thanks for the warning, I'll pass.
Stickin' your finger in the apocalypse pie again.
Can you remember then why you even tried?
Tried to figure out just what was wrong.
Now all you can do is write a song.
Doesn't your life seem futile now?
Welcome to the neighborhood.