One day, I'll be different.
I won't speak like I do now.
I'll be a better person, I guess,
but I'm sick of changing,
Deranging something I've actually
Learned to like, why do we have
To change all the time, why do I
Have to lose my last drops of innocence,
Haven't I lost enough? Haven't I
Learned enough about dirty, dirty
Wipe my hands on my white shirt
I'm considered sick-minded
Because I find it all funny sometimes
When I'm in a certain mood.
I'll tell you something,
I'm dreading growing up
Because I don't want to
Have sex, or alcohol,
Or drugs, thugs,
Am I still sick minded to you?
I hope to hell not.