It's all just a game, right? but I forget the fuckin' shifty rules 
I'm not a poet I suppose if the elite defeat the meter of my prose 
And in no uncertain terms mines is a feaith that isn't confirmed 
Ask the berkeley position and what you're hearing isn't worth 
The listen

But I don't want it all 
I just want you 

Don't get me all wrong, the scars were defensive wounds 
I won't make a great liar, can't debate a taste I can't afford to acquire
Won't stoop down to clean up well 
If your parents and friends think I looks like hell 

So strike a proud pose 
You drew the long straw just to cram It up your nose 
You want a suit and tie to make band and multiply 
Join the unsatisfied 

You know what? 
You're just not my type