(ChinnChapman)

So your old man went and called you a degenerate bum

And you stood there crackin' on your cinnamon gun

And your Ma was knockin' at your sister's brains

And you couldn't help thinkin' what she hoped to gain

Just then that freak walked in the door

And knocked me to the floor

You said, hey man, you're on some kind of trip

He said, don't give me no lip



Just turn it down, come on turn it down

I can't take no more of that God awful sound

So for God's sake turn it down



Now the suspicious minds of your learned friends

Will eat away at your kind 'til the music ends

And the creep that taught you everything you know

Will hypocritically ask you what the hell you know

He'll go out and mess around, then go home without a sound

You said, hey man, you're some kinda monk

He said, listen here you punk



Just turn it down, come on turn it down

I can't take no more of that God awful sound

So for God's sake turn it down



Turn it down, just turn it down

Come on turn it down, I said turn it down

Come on turn it down, just turn it down

I can't take no more of that God awful sound

So for God's sake turn it down