It was the summer of '95 (so what?!), in the backyard, shaving the old plies. feeling so strong, something went wrong. straight into my finger, what a stinger, it was so long. i still remember that day, like the day that i said that i swear, "i'll never hurt myself again", but it seems that i'm deemed to be wrong, to be wrong, to be wrong. so i've got to keep holding on... they always played a slow song. when they come for me, i'll be sitting at my desk, with a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest.. singing "my, my, my, how the time does fly, when you know you're going to die by the end of the night." i still remember when we were young and fragile then. no one gave a shit about us because times were tougher then. feeling so good, cruising the hood; straight into the real world, rich kids never understood. but i don't care. i can fade away to anywhere. don't stop because you might get dropped and if you do who's going to pick you up. well i won't... they always played a slow song.